The accidental boyfriend
by lizzieBdarcy
Summary: Molly Hooper was fully aware the world's only consulting detective had his quirks. However the stakes are raised when he informs her they've apparently been a couple for some six months. Now Sherlock has the task of winning a heart he already thought was his while Molly is filled in on the story of their relationship. I OWN NOTHING
1. Chapter 1

**Little Darcy's, my brain is burnt out. I took part in Nanowrimo (national novel writing month) and 50,000 words later here I am. I'm feeling like all my writing is trash, my heart is too broken from series 9 to write Doctor Who fics and lord only knows how this will turn out. So please bear with me and I own nothing.**

 **Chapter one: Cheater face**

"So then, I thought it was a common merganser but it actually turned out to be a red breasted merganser, can you believe that?"

"Um.. no way! That's.. that's crazy."

"I know right!? Like anyone could mix those two up."

Molly faked a laugh along with her date, internally yawning. It hadn't been a bad evening, Jeff from HR was sweet in a clumsy sort of way and he'd been a complete gentleman. So much so that his polite dinner conversation seemed to be restricted solely to birds and work. Not for the first time, she wondered if perhaps it was her that made the situation wrong. Perhaps she wasn't normal, and regular people discussed birds over Chianti all the time.

"But the really interesting thing is that it's not their normal mating season-"

"Molly Hooper how _dare_ you?!"

Part of her was jumping for joy at the interruption. Molly had no doubt if the evening had continued, she would end up face first in her soup. The other part of her groaned loudly. Trust Sherlock Holmes to hunt her down on her first date in six months. She tried to smile though it came out more like a grimace and looked up into the stormy face of London's own consulting detective.

"Hello Sherlock. I'm a bit busy-"

"I can see that. Who in the blazes is this? No let me guess, a pitiful attempt at romance? Molly he doesn't even have enough decency to-"

"Sorry, Molly who's this?" Jeff interrupted. She shook her head, not oblivious to the stares that were beginning to accompany the situation.

"He's a.. a friend of mine-"

"A _friend_? I catch you cheating and you have the nerve to call me a _friend_?"

Her mind shorted out just then. She could hear Jeff sputtering and Sherlock snarling in answer but her confusion only deepend. What did he mean cheating? On who?

"Molly!"

Both men barking at her brought Molly from her ruminations and back into the line of fire.

"Sorry, I- I'm afraid it's all a bit mixed up."

"Look you're nice and all but I don't get involved with people in relationships-"

"Oh please, you're one to talk." His tone was full of disgust and he didn't so much as step back when Jeff rose from his chair.

"And what's that supposed to mean mate? Huh? I suggest-"

"There's a tan line where your wedding ring would normally sit,paired with the rumpled shirt suggests you're sleeping on a friend's couch which means you've been kicked out of your flat. Probably for cheating. And it was done recently because you've got a healing cut just under your jaw.

If the cut is healing than it was done recently. Since there's only the one, with no scarring, it's not a mistake you commonly make. You had to leave your flat in a hurry and as such are using an unfamiliar, borrowed razor. Add to that the corner of paper sticking out of your suit jacket, if one looks closely you can see an area code and judging on the way that waitress on the left is eyeing you, it's her phone number. So do yourself a favor, pay for the meal and leave Miss Hooper alone."

Based on the way he colored, it was obvious to Molly that Sherlock hit the nail on the head. But then, Sherlock was never wrong. It didn't stop her anger at them both though.

"You're unbelievable! Jeff, don't call me and don't expect a second date. Sherlock you- oooh!"

Unable to say anything more she snatched up her coat and purse and stomped out. She could hear Sherlock calling for her but tried to ignore it, hailing down a cab and groaning when his long legged stride let him catch up to her.

"Sherlock don't. I have no desire to-"

"Molly I demand answers. Perhaps we're ending our relationship but-"

"What are you talking about?! What relationship?! Do you mean our friendship? Because that certainly may end after the stunt you just pulled!"  
"What would you expect after I caught you cheating?"

"Cheat- Sherlock you're not making any sense and I don't have foggiest idea what you're going on about!"

He blinked once, twice, processing this information. It was then she began to piece together what he was telling her.

"Sherlock-"

"Don't." He turned away, facing the window and pointedly ignoring her.

"No, _you_ don't. Don't shut me out. Did.. _Do_. Do you think we're dating?"

"I don't need your pity Molly Hooper, not from someone so.. so dense and woefully uninteresting with a terrible taste in men!"

It was her turn to ignore him, Sherlock always resorted to insults when he was feeling frustrated or insecure.

"If you think you're dating than what does that say about you? Hmm? Now please tell me what's going on."

He stayed quiet, long enough that she assumed he had gone into his mind palace. This proved not to be the case when they pulled up to her flat and he got out right along side her.

"So I guess you're coming in then."  
"Brilliant as always."

"Do us both a favor and shut up for now Sherlock."

For once, the stubborn detective did as told. They made their way up to her flat and she gestured towards the couch as she took off her coat.

"These shoes hurt my feet and I could use a good cuppa. Put the kettle on."

Feeling oddly empowered by his obediently heading towards the kitchen, she went to her bedroom and changed into a her favorite pair of pajamas, the fuzzy ones with skulls and anatomically correct hearts on them. Toby meowed, curling around her ankles before trotting out to the living room, leaving her alone to collect her thoughts.

It seemed she was in quite the quandary. For years, Molly had been besotted by Sherlock Holmes. His mind, his passion for his work, his deductions were all fascinating. What's more, he never minded discussing her morgue work, in fact he encouraged it. They'd spent many an hour in companionable silence since The Fall, she working on a body and he doing his experiments.

Since his returning from his self imposed absence, she felt a softening about him. Suddenly he smiled every now and then instead of sneering. He actually ate. He made friends with Mary Watson, writing a tear-jerking best man speech. Basically, his heart seemed to be thawing. She'd even dared to think he enjoyed their time together. They'd had dinner, discussing a few of his cases late into the night. He'd come over to bounce ideas off her, once even bringing a care package when she had the flu (though he insisted it was to hurry her recovery so that he might enjoy free reign in the morgue once again).

She'd grown comfortable with this friendship. And now… well now it was something entirely different.

Gathering her courage, she went out to the living room, sitting down and accepting a mug of tea from Sherlock.. She took a sip, pleased to find he'd added in four sugars and two creams just how she liked it. Of course.

"Would you like to sit?"

He did, keeping a careful distance between them while she tucked her feet under her. Cosy and fortified by the tea, she nodded at him.

"Now suppose you tell me how long you've been my boyfriend."


	2. Chapter 2: No answer in sight

**Chapter 2: No answer in sight**

 _6 months earlier -_

As he entered the building of his former flat, John Watson could hear strains of Sherlock's violin floating down the stairs. Well familiar with his friend's odd habits, there was a concern on his face that matched the look on Mrs. Hudson's when she came hurrying out from her front door.

"I got your message, what's happened then?"

"I went to my sister's yesterday morning, around 10 or so and spent the night. Sherlock was playing when I left. When I got back this afternoon, he was still going. I don't think he's stopped once. I was hoping you would go and talk with him, I'm awfully worried that whatever's on his mind is eating him up."

He gave the older woman a reassuring pat on the back and headed up. He used his old key to get in, unsurprised to find his best friend by the window furiously playing one of his more complicated pieces.

He sat down in his old chair, shooting a text to Mary that Sherlock had a spot of trouble, nothing serious and he would be home in time for dinner. This done he picked up the paper, content to skim through until Sherlock deigned to acknowledge him.

 **Twenty minutes later or so, Sherlock was putting his instrument away.** Having used all his patience to avoid demanding the detective open up, John leaned forward now, waiting expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what? Mind you while I appreciate your presence, I'd rather you had called first-"

"You wouldn't have answered. What's going on?"

Sherlock gave him a passing glance, sitting in his own chair.

"It seems fatherhood agrees with you, though I'm sorry the offspring has colic."

"Stop that and talk to me."

"And not to worry, you're a doctor. Should she fall seriously ill, you know what to do."

"How did you know Elizabeth had a cold?"

"Obvious really. Your-"

John held up a hand, suddenly realizing Sherlock was once again trying to deflect from himself.

"Stop being a git. You said no more secrets, remember? You swore."

As he knew it would, the reminder made Sherlock stop any rebuttal. While he'd forgiven him for the fall, he was also wary of anything but frank communication with the famous detective. That's what had caused all the trouble last time. As if weighing his words carefully, Sherlock very slowly made eye contact.

"I require information."

"Course. What sort?"

"I need- I'm doing an experiment, of sorts."

"Okay. Is it it medical, scientific-"

"Human relations."

Both men were quiet. Sherlock, from discomfort. John, from surprise.

"Err… right. Right, okay. Human relations. What about them?"

"I.. I am in need of information concerning the female mind and as you've had multiple failures over the years I thought I might benefit from your mistakes."

While normally he would have a snappy comeback, John was still trying to figure out the angle Sherlock was playing.

"This isn't gonna be another Janine situation is it? Cause I'm not helping you break some poor-"

"No, nothing like that. For instance, your relationship with Mary, how did it progress?"

"Well.. err, normal? I guess? I mean it all seemed normal, having dinner and spending time together-"

"A moment John, if you would."

Sherlock headed over to the desk, almost eagerly, grabbing a pencil and pad then hurried back to his chair. Flipping it open, he scribbled something and then nodded.

"Please continue."

 **The air stung the inside of his nostrils, but Sherlock hardly noticed.** His fingers were itching for a cigarette, more to calm his nerves than anything but that was out of the question. Molly would be so disappointed if he smoked, he'd managed to avoid it for at least a month or so now.

 _Molly._

For the umpteenth time, he took his little notepad out of his coat pocket, opening it to his notes on his conversation with John. The consulting detective had little idea how to deal with his pathologist as of late, since his feelings towards her had begun to.. change.

Lately, his mind palace seemed full of her. Sherlock had grown rather feverish one evening when mind palace Molly became suddenly amorous. Since then he'd replayed it over in his mind a total of 1,167 times. He'd also begun going out of his way to go to the morgue, even when he had no current experiments. On occasion he'd even picked her lock, (really he'd have to have some put better ones on, a child could get into Molly's flat at this point) knowing she wouldn't be home but satisfied by her scent alone.

After hours of internet research, a short recon to see if she might still care for him, (it appeared she did, thank heavens meat dagger was out of the picture) and a careful study of the woman in question, Sherlock was still at a loss. So he turned to his best friend, making a checklist of sorts. Clearly, this was the best thing to do as it had resulted in the married union of one John Watson to Miss Mary Morstan. And it seemed to be a happy one, since Mary had recently given birth to the offspring.

With this belief firmly in mind he looked at number one on the list.

 _ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION YOU BOTH WILL FIND INTERESTING_

Easy enough. One of the reasons he'd become so attached to the small pathologist was that she was miles ahead of most everyone else. He could actually hold an intelligent conversation with her and be interested in what she had to say. With this in mind, he strode into St. Bart's, making a beeline for the morgue.

As he pushed open the door, he made a point of turning up his coat collar since Molly's behavior indicated she found it attractive. The woman in question was elbows deep in a corpse, cheerfully humming something he assumed was pop trash.

"Oh hello Sherlock. I've got a foot for you today."

"Excellent. Anything of interest?"

"Yes actually. Take off your coat and come see this intestinal tract."

 _Conversation, check._

Three bodies and two fingers later, Sherlock feigned washing up so that he might check his notepad once more.

 _2) ASK HER OUT TO AN ENJOYABLE ACTIVITY,FOLLOWED BY DINNER_

"Molly, are you free this evening? I'd like to begin experiments on Mr. Miller's foot at once and your assistance would be valuable."

"Well, I need to feed Toby-"

"Of course. Would you come by Baker Street at 4? I will, of course, provide dinner should the experiments run more than two hours time"

She offered a sunny smile and nodded.

"Sure. Take away? I could go for Chinese."

"A sit down meal would be more appropriate, that way if we wish it, we can resume the experiments with little clean up time. I think Angelo's would be satisfactory."

Her smile grew about 100 watts brighter.

"That would be amazing, their carbonara is positively sinful."

"Excellent. Four o'clock then."

Having thus made the arrangements he left, internally grinning. He had done it! What's more, she accepted! It was a date.

 _Present day-_

Having heard Sherlock's explanation, Molly took a sip from her cup, trying to process it all.

"So… six months ago. You asked me out. For experiments and Italian food."

"Yes."

"And since then, we've been a couple?"

"Technically speaking, we've been a couple for five months and twenty four days after our first kiss."

Her eyes widened and she nearly spit out her tea.

"Kiss? What kiss?! I'm pretty sure I would have- oh. Ohhhhhhh…. Sherlock! That wasn't a dream?!"

He frowned, unsure of why she was suddenly yelling at him when seconds ago she'd seemed well enough.

"I was there in the morning, I assumed you realized there was no need for discussion."

"Sherlock you don't just.. you can't just go _kissing_ people-"

"I didn't kiss people, I kissed you. There's really a very big difference."

She made something between a groan and a squeak before covering her face with a pillow. Sherlock, while amused by this little outburst found himself rather curious. Had she not liked kissing him? Her cheeks had developed two spots of color and she was hiding away.. embarrassment? Perhaps he would need to put her at ease.. most people grew comfortable when considering themselves equal to the one they were speaking with. Thus, he needed to make them equals.

"I had hoped you would enjoy kissing me, as I certainly enjoyed kissing you."

There. He'd made the admission. She peeked out, staring hard at him but saying nothing. Clearly, she was thinking but for once he couldn't read the small pathologist.

"What do you remember about that night?" She asked finally.

He took a breath, irritated to find himself nervous about explaining the event.

"Well…."


	3. Chapter 3: Five months and 24 days ago

**The response to this has been AMAZING little darcy's! I'm trying so so hard to get updates for the other stories posted so don't give up on me please. And as the title says, this chapter is Sherlock explaining what happened that fateful day Five months and 24 days go. Hope yah like it and review review REVIEW! :)**

 **Chapter 3: Five months and 24 days ago**

Pain doesn't lessen over time. You just get used to it.

This was something Molly was intimately familiar with. Every year, the anniversary arrived. And every year, it still hurt so that it took her breath away. She loved her mother, sort of. Though it was more so because she was the woman who'd given her life, rather than anything else.

Her father had been the one to come to her ballet recitals. He was the one who stopped her tears when she fell by explaining how the circulatory system worked. That really, though it hurt, that was her body working just as it should. In complicated and marvelous ways. He'd been the first person she saw after she received her high-school diploma and the first one she called when she realized she wanted to be a pathologist.

And then cancer took him away.

Her boss was understanding, as always. She always took three days off when the day of her father's death came back around and Mike agreed to the days freely. So here she was. Curled up on her worn down couch, tucked under her favorite blanket with Toby for company.

The only time she planned on moving was to go out and visit his grave. Unfortunately, life had other plans. The buzzer went off and with a sigh she dragged herself to the door.

 **Sherlock was fully aware he was self-absorbed.** Very few people could keep up with him mentally and even fewer were ones he actually liked. He never remembered dates, which is probably why John had posted notes on every surface of the flat before he was married. It wouldn't do to have the best man knee deep in experiments when he was supposed to be handing over the rings.

He did remember Molly though. It was just the one day. Until his mind palace had begun to be heavily influenced by her, he tried to pretend he remembered nothing about the mousy pathologist.

But he knew this day. He'd deduced it ages ago, from various clues about her. The one picture on her desk at Bart's of her with an older man, they shared the same facial build and hair color. She spoke of him warmly, but always in past tense. The one piece of jewelry she wore no matter what, a delicate gold chain around her neck that was the same as in the desk photo.

Having noticed her repeated absence on the same day every year, he correctly assumed she'd stayed home for the anniversary of her father's death. And this year, they were in a relationship. That is, they'd gone on one date. And a half, he counted the morning they'd spent at Baker Street discussing the clues of one of his cases. He bought her a milk tea and a blueberry crumble muffin, her favorite treat for breakfast. Four hours later, he'd attempted to convince her to stay, but Molly insisted she needed to go run errands.

That's what he was carrying now actually. A still warm muffin and one steaming take-away cup of tea. He could hear Molly's feet dragging on the other side of the door, but he was unprepared for what the sight of her hurting would do to him.

"Oh… hey Sherlock. Um, I can't help you with body parts, I took the day off-"

"I know. "

For a minute, he could only stare. There was a tightness in his chest as he took in Molly's red-rimmed eyes, the way her body curled in almost like a child. Her face ghostly, she was clutching a wad of tissues in one small hand and he was suddenly overcome with the urge to hold her, rub her back until the chill that seemed to surround her evaporated.

"Is… is that for me?" She sniffed, pointing at the bag.

"Yes.. muffin. Tea."

He handed the things over, mind racing lightyears ahead of him. How soon she would be taken over by fatigue, (7. 8 hours) how many hours of sleep her body would require from it's exhaustion, (10.5 hours) the distance between them (7.34 inches give or take) and probable reaction to his attempts at comfort (suspicion, followed by a brief release of emotion, followed by higher spirits).

"Did- did you want to come in?"

"Yes. Thank you." He remembered to add as he stepped over the threshold. She nodded, returning to her seat on the couch.

Toby eyed him with disinterest, familiar with the detective from his stays with them after the Reichenbach Fall. He took off his coat, sinking into the couch beside her. When it became apparent she was attempting to give him more room, he took her feet and placed them firmly in his lap.

"Wha-"

"Your emotional turmoil causes tension. You'll still carry it in your muscles when you return to work."

"You… you know? What today is? Scratch that, of course you know."

"Would.. if you would prefer me to leave, I will."

Again, he had surprised her. But instead of telling him off, she crawled over and put her head on his chest.

"I'd rather you didn't. Just for a little bit. Unless you have a case-"

"It's of no great importance. Barely a three."

She fell silent then and gradually her breathing evened out. He ought to have been uncomfortable, being used as a human pillow by Molly Hooper was not something he'd done before. Instead, Sherlock found his thoughts had slowed down right along with her pulse. Instead of a continuous input of information, his mind was quieting to a manageable hum. Having been on a case not two days before, it wasn't long before his own body gave in to the urge to sleep.

 **He woke up some time later, sleepy and a nose full of apple.** As his mind began to restart it all came back to him. Molly's father, their quick talk..

 _She's lying on you. Normal occurrence between those in a romantic relationship-_

"Sherlock? You're still here?"

Blinking groggily, she peered up at him in surprise.

"It would appear I am. Are you hungry? You need to keep up your strength."

"No I- bugger! What time is it?"

"Around 3 I believe- Molly?"

She was already scrambling up in a flurry of activity, rushing for her room and anxiety lacing all of her movements.

"I've got to go see him, I always-"

"Your father? Molly he is deceased I don't believe-"

"Believe what you want."

 _A bit not good Sherlock_ mental John chided. He sighed, pausing in his mind to speak to his friend.

 _Her father-_

 _Is very important to her Sherlock. All she really had._

 _John in her present state of mind-_

 _So go with her then. She's your girlfriend isn't she?_

"I'm going with you."

"You're what?"

 _Don't tell her, ask her you sod._

"I.. wish to accompany you."

This earned him a confused stare and then her silence while his pathologist pulled on red rubber rain boots.

"This isn't- what I mean is, you don't have to."

"I'm aware."

It wasn't until she pulled on her worn yellow jacket and was headed out the door that she finally responded.

"If that's what you want."

 **If it were a competition, there was no clear winner.** Both Molly and Sherlock were at a loss. Sherlock because he didn't know how to handle standing graveside with his pathologist. And Molly because she couldn't figure out Sherlock's angle.

"Hi Daddy. It's me.. I guess you know that though…"

Sherlock had stepped back to give her privacy, but even with him just a few feet away she felt completely alone in the world.

"I brought your favorites. A great big bundle of Carnations, see?" She wiped away the leaves and overgrowth, then put the bouquet down in front of her father's headstone. The simple action brought tears to her already swollen eyes.

"I miss you so much Daddy. And I thought with time it would get easier, but on days like today.. it hurts like new all over again. Mum hasn't been round in ages though it's not like I'd know what to say to her. I never know what to say, I'm always making mistakes and doing dumb things-"

Her voice broke, overwhelmed with negative self talk and heartache. She covered her face, startling when an arm went around her shoulders.

"Hello Mr. Hooper. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I'm the world's only consulting detective. I work with your daughter… it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Sh- sherlock..?"

"She's really very talented, Molly never gives herself near enough credit. But she's someone who counts. She has friends. Colleagues who greatly esteem her. And.. and she has me sir. Though I could never take your place in her heart, I will do my best to keep her safe for you."

He held firm eye contact with the headstone, feeling insane for talking to a rock and yet remembering his pain at the loss of his beloved redbeard. Sherlock refused to such much as glance at Molly, unsure how to respond to any reaction she might have. Molly seemed to understand. But then, Molly always understood. So together, they kept her father's memory company.

 **By the time the cab pulled up outside of her building, Molly was fast asleep.** The emotional exhaustion had taken its toll and Sherlock was careful not to wake her as he carried her up to her flat.

It was quick work finding her key and then they were inside, Sherlock closing the door with his foot behind them. She whimpered, but curled in against him and slept on. He transported her to her bed, removing her shoes and socks before a mental debate began. How much clothing could he remove at this point in their relationship?

She was not awake to give consent but he couldn't leave her bundled in her coat, she'd be uncomfortable. Finally he decided he would leave her undergarments on and change her into her sleep wear. Keeping focused only on the task at hand, he removed her coat and pants before replacing them with the fuzzy pair she'd been wearing earlier. Deciding that would suffice, he tucked the covers in and turned to leave.

"Sherlock?"

She was more than half asleep but one slim hand reached out towards him. He leaned down and on impulse, pressed his lips to hers softly.

"Sleep now Molly Hooper. Tomorrow will be a better day."

Molly drifted back off while Sherlock locked up, already busy cataloging their first kiss in his mind palace.


	4. Chapter 4: I can see clearly now

**Chapter 4: I can see clearly now**

 _Present day_

When Sherlock finished up his narrative of the events, Molly's mind was whirling. What did this mean for them? Should she try for it when she knew what sort of man he was? What if he grew bored? Which he surely would, she was ordinary every day Molly Hooper. Nothing special about her to maintain his interest. What if-

"You're thinking rather loudly right now Molly, I'd much prefer you telling me aloud what your concerns are."

She might be ordinary, but she could read Sherlock, at least a little bit. And right now, though he spoke with that dry and almost irritated tone, his body said otherwise. His shoulders were squared, he straightened when her eyes focused on him. He was nervous. Maybe even a little afraid.

"I think… I think I need some time. Alone."

His lips pursed.

"Of course. I'll just-"

"Sherlock."

He paused and turned back around. She swallowed hard, being beneath the gaze of Sherlock Holmes suddenly made her feel under a microscope, like one of his experiments.

"Not forever. Just a couple days. I want time to… to think. To know myself. Because you know and I know, I have loved you for so long. Long enough that if I just go along with it, I could go back to being the mouse you knew. Not the woman who… who you say counts."

Her breath caught in her throat when he cupped her cheek. Such tenderness from the man many called a machine.

"You've always counted Molly."

"I- will you talk to John? I think perhaps he might be able to explain better than I can."

"If that is what you wish."

"It is. Um.. do you still have the notebook? Maybe.. I'm off Tuesday. If you wanted to come back?"

"I would like that very much."

"O- okay. Okay then. Good night then."

"Goodnight."

He was still holding her. She could feel their breaths syncing, her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in and nuzzled her cheek.

"My Molly."

By the time she opened her eyes, he was gone.

 **Mary Watson was enjoying a quiet night in with her husband and child.** Bethie had finally drifted off, she and John were watching crap telly over their take away. All was well.

So of course, someone had to come banging on the door.

She could hear John's confused arguing before both he and his best friend came back into the living room. Rather like a little boy, Sherlock bent down to kiss Mary's cheek before taking a seat opposite the couple.

"Hello Sherlock."

"Hello Mary. You're looking well, 10 pounds is it?"  
She grinned.

"Thank you for noticing! Breast feeding does wonders, I think I may even be down 11."

"It suits you."

"Sherlock enough small talk. What's going on?" John cut in.

"I thought I would drop by, perhaps hold the offspring and Mary's been wanting a visit-"

"Don't give me that. If it were a case we'd be on our way out by now. And you have to be tied down to offer to hold Bethie."

"Her given name is Elizabeth, I don't understand why you persist in-"

"Sherlock!"

"Molly sent me."

At this admission, Mary sat up and John leaned forward.

"Molly? What's she got to do with anything?"

"She.. well. It would seem I've.. made a rather large faux pas-"

" You didn't try to experiment on Toby again did you?!"

"No! I've learned my lesson in that regard, don't be-"

"If you insult my intelligence so help me-"

"Boys!"

Both men stopped their fight to give their attention to Mary who was rolling her eyes. She loved them both dearly but there were times when they squabbled like children and it was all she could do not to give them both a good swat.

"Sherlock, suppose you start from the beginning. Molly sent you, what does she need?"

"I-" The words got stuck, refusing to move. Instead, he handed over the pocketbook he'd been referring to for the last 6 months. Together, the Watson's looked through the small notepad.

"Sherlock I don't understand. Every one of these is about Molly Hooper."

 _Address Molly with please and thank you._

 _Bring her coffee at 10 a.m. during morning shifts._

 _Do not call her pop trash "pop trash."_

Sherlock refused to respond, and while John was still trying to piece it together Mary looked up with new understanding.

"Sherlock."

"Mary."

"Have you been trying to court Molly Hooper?"

John's mouth dropped while Sherlock squirmed. Mary grinned in delight.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Wait. Okay.. wait. You and- Wait."

"Yes."

"So- you and she-"

"Yes.  
"Yes… yes. Right."

Both men went quiet, John clearly trying to still get a grasp on what he was hearing.

"Wait, hold on. A few months back, when you said you were doing an experiment on human relations-"

"It was her. Yes."

He opened his mouth to say something, quickly shutting up when Mary shot him a dirty look.

"You said she sent you over? Why'd she want you to see us Sherlock?"

He mashed his scarf in his eyes, keeping his eyes focused out the window.

"It would appear she was unaware of our relationship."

"She… Oh Sherlock."

Having come to terms with the fact that:

Sherlock was dating. For real this time

It was Molly Hooper of all people and

Somehow, she didn't actually _know_ they were dating,

John now was aware that he was in a precarious situation. Clearly Sherlock was upset. And if he'd done as told, coming straight here (a rarity in itself seeing as he never did what he was told) then this was important to him. Correction: Molly was important to him.

"Alright, we can fix this. What did she say when you asked her out?"

"She said yes! We did experiments and then had dinner."

John and Mary shared a look.

"Did you ask her to have dinner?"

"I said I would need her help with an experiment and would like her to come to Baker Street. Then I informed her I would take her to Angelo's afterwards."

Mary sighed and stood, gesturing for her husband to follow while Sherlock put his head on his knees and began to flip through the TV channels listlessly.

"Mary what's-"

"John you'd better put on the kettle. I think Sherlock and I need to talk about what went wrong."

"But I-"

"John. Please? Let me speak with him."

When he nodded, she gave him a kiss and returned to the living room.

"Hey Mister."

"I see the cavalry's been sent in. Going to teach me about feminine wiles?"

"You really care for her don't you?"

"Did you hear that in one of your so called chick flicks?"

"Only you've gotten it all mixed up and now, you've got to work for it."

"I thought I had."

She sat beside him, watching the screen that droned on.

"She didn't turn you down Sherlock. Or did she and you've come to sulk?"

Having become well acquainted with just how tough the ex-assassin could be, Sherlock was still surprised at the hurt that the question caused.

"I don't sulk."

"Yes you do. But you didn't answer my question."

"She said.. she said that she needed time alone to think. And that you and John could explain it better. And she asked if I'd come see her on Tuesday."

"Then that's not a no. But this means you've got to be clear in your intentions. It means you could be about to embark on the most puzzling, confusing and exhilarating case of your life. And something like that, it's dangerous Sherlock. Because you've got the power to hurt someone every day. Molly's a sweetheart, but she's not looking for pub every weekend, white picket fence. If she was, she would have stayed with Tom. She's got a thing about danger and death and the human mind. She's intelligent, she's fierce and she is most certainly capable of keeping you in your place Sherlock Holmes. Is that what you want? Because this isn't something you go back on, not with her."

Without hesitation, he gave one sharp nod.

"Yes. I want her."

She grinned and kissed his cheek.

"Then here's what you need to do."

 **Alright little Darcy's, question time: Do we want to see Sherlock attempt to date Miss Hooper now? Or do we want more scenes of when he** _ **thought**_ **they were dating? Review and let me know!**


	5. Chapter 5: Romantic Notions

**Hello little Darcy's, you've spoken and I have written thusly. We'll be seeing attempts at wooing from Sherlock and scenes of the past as our delightfully dark couple try and sort out their relationship. This will be the last update of 2015 so enjoy your new year and be safe everyone!**

 **Chapter 5: Romantic notions**

For the umpteenth time, Molly tugged nervously at her jumper and looked over herself in the mirror. It was Tuesday and Sherlock was due to arrive any minute now.

She'd spent the last few days thinking over their conversation and what she'd learned. While Sherlock had seemed completely sincere, Molly was fully aware he was a master at manipulation. But while she'd grown used to his charm tactics, this had felt entirely different.

For one thing, if he didn't care why bother spoiling her date? Sure, he'd intruded before but generally it was to whisk her back off to the morgue for a case. He was pushy, arrogant and incredibly demanding. But she'd also seen he'd had the capacity to care deeply. When his back was up against the wall, nothing in the world would keep Sherlock from ensuring the wellbeing of those he cared for.

So how did she feel about him? Could she honestly say she felt nothing? That he was just another friend to her? With a sigh, she took the whistling kettle off and poured out the tea. Molly couldn't even tell that lie to herself, let alone a detective who read people for a living. The door buzzed and she took a calming breath before heading over to open it. Unbidden, a huge smile broke out onto her face.

 **Sherlock tried not to fidget under the delighted eyes of one Molly Hooper.** She appeared to be pleased, meaning John's suggestion to bring flowers had paid off. He also had a small, gift wrapped box but as she had yet to open it Sherlock had no idea how she would react.

"Right on time. Won't you come in?"

"Thank you."

She accepted the bouquet, sniffing appreciatively at them while she went to find a vase, leaving Sherlock to take a seat on the couch. He'd been here countless times but felt a buzzing undercurrent to the situation now. With no small amount of shock, he recognized it as anxiety. It was anxiety that had him perched on the couch and anxiety that had him straightening up when Molly came back in.

"The flowers are lovely Sherlock, thank you."

"You're welcome. You asked me to come back Tuesday so- so it is Tuesday and here I am."

"Here you are."

She tittered nervously, hands folded in front of her before she took a seat beside him.

"I.. Sherlock, I need to ask you some questions, before anything else."

"Of course."

"Why me?"

"What?"

"Why me? Obviously you could have had your pick of women-"

"I picked you Molly."

She inhaled sharply, a quick once over told Sherlock she was gearing up for some sort of speech.

"Why? You have to tell me why Sherlock, it doesn't make sense. You've insulted my looks, my personality, my interests.. you've also told me I counted. You've told you need me. And most recently, you've told me we are in a romantic relationship. So which is it? Is my mouth too small, my looks too plain? Or do you need me? Because I.. I do care for you. With time, I might even be able to say I love you. But if you aren't absolutely certain, if this is another experiment or an alternative to getting high, I won't be a part of it. I can't, I would never be able to.. to just move on. So I just-"

He was terrible with sincerity. It was almost a foreign language to him at this point but he'd been practicing. Mind palace John kept him in line for the most part, real life John checking his behavior the rest of the time. How was he supposed to erase years of harsh words and oblivious deductions with nothing but his speech?

 _Actions speak louder than words._

Even as she was still speaking, he was in motion. His arms went around her, large hands cradling the side of her face and mouth against Molly's. For some time, he'd been thinking about that kiss. Replaying the taste and feel of her beneath him, trying to come up with ways to smoothly repeat the situation. And even with his memory, with the power of the mind palace and his years of observation, Sherlock found mind palace kissing was a shoddy comparison to the real thing.

 **Internally, Molly was cringing.** Women on TV, in her romance novels, they could whisper sweet nothings and swoon when the man they loved decided to plant one on them. However, she wasn't them and so instead, she let out a squeak of surprise. He chuckled, a deep rumble that sent shivers down her back and while she'd always imagined him to be a phenomenal kisser, Molly had to admit she'd never associated the idea of fun with it.

Ultimately, that was what got her. That he wasn't smirking or jeering or even trying to coo endearments. It was that Sherlock Holmes was smiling down at her, that their kisses were interrupted by his amusement and passion was replaced by tenderness.

"May I kiss you again Molly?"

"If you stop I'll sock you square in the nose."

With another chuckle he resumed nipping and sucking at her lips, brushing his nose against her own. She would have been glad to continue, but something was sharp was digging into her thigh.

"Is that a box or are you just happy to see me?" She quipped. He rolled his eyes, handing over the small square box.

"I brought a sort of.. I don't know what you'd call it. An offering."

"I don't need presents."

"I know. But.. but I also know I'm not the best when it comes to speaking on matters of the heart. I did attempt to prepare a speech. But I didn't wish to appear.. rehearsed. So I put it down on paper and got you this. I think you'll like it. That is, I hope you'll like it. If you don't I can return it and get you something else but-"

"How about you let me see the present first before you decide to take it back?"

His mouth set in a thin line, an expression she recognized as embarrassment and handed over the gift in question. She took care in removing the wrapping paper and then opened the card attached.

" _I've little experience with sentiment. Caring has never been an advantage for me. There have been instances when, because of my ignorance, I have hurt you deeply Molly Hooper. As much as I might wish otherwise, this will probably happen again. But while I cannot promise to be a normal significant other, I can certainly promise no one will ever love you half so well as I._

 _I will use my deductions to see when you hurt, when you hunger, when you have pain. And I will use everything in my power to put a stop to these. To make you smile again, to make sure you are fully aware that you are what I need. You are the one who counts most. Always."_

 _-Sherlock_

Eyes full ,she couldn't stop her lips from trembling as she hugged Sherlock tightly. Wonderful man, even when out of his element he fumbled along until the right words were found. Still teary, she took the lid off and gasped.

Inside the box, nestled among paper tissue was a Faberge egg. Etched in gold against a sky blue background, delicate blossoms covered it's surface. The latch revealed a dancer, en pointe and being spun in the arms of a tux clad gentleman. Tchaikovsky's Swan lake began to play as the dancer twirled and Molly was thoroughly enchanted.

"Sherlock it's.. oh my goodness it's too much-"

"I wish I could do more but I was aware you wouldn't accept it."

She smiled, turning her face up to kiss him quickly.

"Sherlock Holmes. Would you like to have dinner with me Thursday evening?"

"I.. I would. Very much so."


	6. Chapter 6: Courtship a la Holmes

**Here we go little Darcy's, the first date between our detective and his pathologist (that they are both aware of.) Of course it's Sherlock so this evening will be anything but normal. Real quick: if you wouldn't mind little Darcy's, I've entered a contest on** **.com** **look up the story: I aim to misbehave and vote for me pretty please!**

 **And ALSO real-quick: there is now a LizzieB blog on wordpress! If you go there, look up LizzieB living. It's got some pretty cool stuff including blogs done by characters in my stories and opportunities to ask questions on writing plus connecting! I own nothing and tell me what our pair should do next!**

 **Chapter 6: Courtship a la Holmes**

"Alright then, which one? The red sheath or the blue velvet?"

"Molls we picked out the red sheath for a reason. What's the point of buying a new dress if you have no intention of wearing it?"

Molly sighed heavily while Mina rested the chosen garment onto the bed. She had just under two hours to get ready and thankfully, her oldest friend was here to help with the finishing touches.

And offer advice.

And calm her nerves.

And snatch the phone away when Molly had talked herself (for the 15th time since Mina had arrived) into cancelling tonight.

"Mina what if Sherlock hates the color red?"

"Does he?"

"Well… no, not that I know of-"

"Then push that worry right from your mind."

"Yes but suppose I'm too dressed up? Then-"

"Then Mr. Fancy pants von Detective man will probably recalculate your fancy level down to a percentage and sweep you off to Paris or Rome or something."

"How-"

"Someone probably owes him a favor. Now go shower already! And don't forget to shave your legs. Just in case." She added with a wink.

Molly glared but was (mostly) ignored and so to the shower she went.

 **For his part, Sherlock had called upon John and Lestrade in help for the night ahead.** As a head of a division, Lestrade had called in a few favors for the young man while John went over dinner conversation and outfit choices. Eventually though, Mary handed over an animated bethie to her husband and shooed them out.

"Let me see what you're considering did you say you were going?"

He offered her the paper with the reservations written down and watched while she went through his closet. Eventually she laid out one of his favorite suits along with a black button down (another shirt Molly seemed to react strongly to) and nodded.

"These should do the trick. What's John been telling you then?"

"He was reminding me of what not to do."

"Never hurts."

"I'm sure I'll manage to stumble my way throughout the evening without his assistance."

Having no qualms with being naked, he began to strip down for the shower.

"Sherlock?"

"What?"  
"I love you dearly but I'm afraid even my influence might not save you from John's fists if he walks in here right now."

He rolled his eyes but went into his adjoining bathroom, showering and shaving in record time.

When he came back out in a robe, Mary was just finishing up pressing his clothes. She handed them over, then went back to choosing shoes while he got dressed. Eventually, he was clothed and she was ready to look him over.

"Collar down ya git." She chuckled, fixing it. He huffed but she smoothed his unruly curls and paid his attitude no mind.

"You go and be yourself. Except mind your manners, alright?"

"If I must."

"You must."

She gave his kiss a motherly peck and nudged him out into the main room.

"Alright Sherlock. You remember-"

"Yes John, I am fully aware of needing to mind my manners, wipe my feet, don't scratch at the table-"

"Glad to see nerves haven't gotten in the way of you being an arse."

The two snickered while Mary rolled her eyes at their shenanigans and sent Sherlock on his way.

The detective hailed a cab and tried to calm his nerves with a quick mental review of the evening ahead of him.

 _Arrive at Molly's flat._

 _Compliment her chosen attire for the evening._

 _Return to cab, escort her to dinner._

 _Extracurricular activity._

 _See Molly home._

 _Inform her you've had a pleasant evening._

 _Kiss her goodnight._

 _Return to 221B._

Feeling steadier, he watched the streets pass until they got to Molly's building. His pathologist was a singularity all her own. And while he was mentally superior, she had the upper hand in matters of the heart. Sherlock could only hope the evening would go smoothly. He made his way up to her flat and knocked, foot tapping and running through his plan.

"Just a second!"

He could hear her light footed steps hurrying about on the other side of the door before it swung open. Clad in a body hugging red sheath dress and hair swept up off her face, she gave a hurried smile.

"Sorry, I meant to be ready as soon as you arrived-"

"I came."

Her face went from rushed to confused.

"Yes and I was just saying, I meant to be ready-"

"I'm early."

His tongue was heavy in his mouth and for once, his mind palace couldn't uncatalogued the details fast enough.

 _Lilacs, perfume.. new, 45 quid, special occasion only_

 _Sheath dress originally 35 quid marked up for black lace back detailing - 65 quid_

 _Make up, hair done expert hand - professionally? No- Friend_

 _Pupils dilated, hand tremors, licks her lips every 3.25 seconds suggesting nerves/arousal_

 _Conclusion: Anticipating the evening ahead_

"I just need my shoes and then i'll be all set. I hope that's okay."

"Allow me. Please?"

He took the heels out of her hand and waited for Molly to sit before kneeling in front of her. Truthfully, he wasn't sure where the sudden need to care for her came from. Sherlock only knew the reverent position felt natural and that Molly was his angel sent to be worshiped by him and him alone.

"Sherlock? What is it?"

Cool slender hands cupped his face, tipping his head upward to look at her. Her warm brown eyes met his own, full of concern. He suddenly felt wretchedly ill, as it occurred to him there was probably a reason she never suspected they were anything more than platonic. He was a drug addict who solved murders as an alternative to getting high. Romance was calculations and chemicals and hormones and he.. he was a machine. Machines were incapable of love. Could he soil his angel?

"Sherlock. Come back to me."

She saw him. She always did.

"Where did you go?"

"I love you."

He hadn't intended to say that. In fact, he wasn't even aware he'd felt that way.

"I'm nervous too. Shall we fumble along together?"

"Yes.. Yes. Yes, that would be acceptable."

He finished with her shoes, acutely aware of the fact that she had not said "I love you" back. While he expected to be irritated by such an observation, Sherlock was surprised to find he was recognized his nerves and embraced them. He didn't deserve her love. Not yet. But he would work towards it until she willingly reciprocated his feelings without hesitation.

 **As the evening began and they were seated at the table,Molly was pleasantly surprised by her surroundings.** They'd hailed a cab to what appeared to be a run of the mill bar that served appetizers and various dishes. She could feel anxiety getting the better of her, feeling over-dressed and out of place among the more casual bar hoppers. However Sherlock paid them no mind, simply led her to the back where a man seemed to be milling around by the bathrooms. He was dressed as the others, dark jeans and a casual button down.

"Good evening. Would you care for a brandy?" The man asked. Molly hoped it wasn't some sort of lewd joke. Sherlock shook his head.

"No thank you, but I will have a scotch. Two fingers please."

Smiling, he moved aside, no longer standing in front what she had assumed was a fire exit. Instead, it opened to a set of winding stairs. Sherlock offered an arm to keep her steady as they made their way down. In front of them was an industrial space furnished with rectangular tables and booths, set beneath hanging bubble lights. The few walls that weren't exposed brick were done in slate gray, bright paintings adding splashes of color here and there. A live band played a jazzy ensemble in the background, some couples moving to dance on the pre-arranged floor.

"What is this place?"

Sherlock smiled.

"It's what's referred to as an underground restaurant. There are places such as these all over London. As it so happens, I had yet to hear of this particular spot but our friend Lestrade apparently has connections."

"I've never seen anything like it!"

Clearly impressed by the experience, she was all smiles as a waiter approached with what appeared to be a oblong chopping block. On it was several crostini, topped with bruschetta and freshly shaved Parmesan. In short, it was thus far one of the most spectacular dates she'd ever been on and they'd only just begun.

"So-" She began, interrupted by his phone suddenly buzzing.

"Do you need to get that?"  
"No, it's probably just George."

"You mean Greg."

"Him."

She laughed, the grin lighting up her features. Sherlock found himself falling a little bit harder.

"He hates that you know."

"Well-" The phone started again, buzzing longer this time.

"Maybe you should-"

"They can survive without me."

When it began to buzz again, both looked at his pocket. Irritated with the interruption, he finally caved and answered it.

"Lestrade if you do not stop-"

"Sherlock, I'm sorry but I think this one demands your attention."

"Your idiot officers-"

"Sherlock the victim has been made up to look like Molly Hooper."


	7. Chapter 7: DoppleGanger

**I know that last ending worried a lot of you but not to fear little Darcy's, the Holmes's are on the case! (And yes, there's a reason that Holmes is plural in this instance hehe. Wink wink. All but hinting there will be the appearance of more than one)**

 **Also in case you don't follow my other stories, THERE IS NOW A CHARACTER BLOG POSTED. Go to Wordpress, search for LizzieB Living and connect now! Talk to your favorite characters. Talk to me. Connect with other little Darcy's! Kisses!**

 **.com**

 **Chapter 7: Doppleganger**

Sherlock was quiet the entire drive to the scene. Not only had his first date (that she knew about) with Molly been ruined, it was by some psycho who apparently was obsessed with his significant other. He told Molly the case was a 10 and he needed to meet Lestrade, but was loathe to let her out of his site. Instead of the protests or dismay he expected, she nodded and asked if he wanted her to call John.

His pathologist never failed to surprise him.

So here they were, Molly in her heels and evening wear hurrying along beside a stony and clearly irate Sherlock. On the ride, Sherlock quietly admitted she was involved with this case. It was personal, because the victim's life was so much like her own. The cab dropped them in front of an estate, the murder had taken place in a flat on the first level. It was on the edge of London, in a quiet area that was mostly populated by school marms, medical students who worked too hard to party and first time families. There was a community garden and a playground nearby. For death to come here, to this place.. it only increased Molly's anxiety. Usually, she looked after the dead once they came into _her_ territory. She rarely went to the crime scenes. To make matters worse, Sally Donovan was there to greet them.

"My my, you're looking rather fancy this evening freak. Should I applaud this great honor?"

"Let John Watson through when he arrives." Was the terse reply.

"I'm not your secretary freak and I'm no beat cop so-"

"So stop calling him a freak. I don't appreciate it, not in the least and I'm rather good friends with your boss. I also happen to be a friend with someone very high up in parliament so I suggest you keep your negative and childish name calling to yourself and do as he says, is that quite clear?" Molly interrupted, leaving both speechless. Sally's mouth opened as though she'd like to say something, but it shut again just as quickly. Satisfied, Molly strode past, with Sherlock now the one trailing behind.

"I'm impressed Miss Hooper." He murmured. She glanced at him, the affirmative and confident woman gone and replaced with the shy Molly of earlier.

"I.. she shouldn't call you names. No one gets to call you names." She stuttered. He gave a glimmer of a smile and then made a beeline for Lestrade.

"Oh thank god Sherlock, it's about bloody time. Molly I don't know if you-"

"Catch me up, now." Sherlock was already mentally cataloging the scene and there was no sign of the bashful young man whom Molly had been spending the evening with. The change was almost unsettling.

"Nosy old woman noticed the cat had gotten out, thought she'd "be neighborly" and return it. When she knocked, the door swung open and she called us. Says she never noticed a young man coming around so no mentioned though she thought that might be changing because the victim had gotten her hair done recently and bought some new clothes. Victim's name is Moira Sanderson. 28, lived alone and worked as a coffee barista. Had the occasional visitor but mostly kept to herself. The body hasn't started to decay yet and we left everything as we found it. Crime boys came in, took samples and fibers and what not…" Lestrade nodded at the posed body, murmuring "No doubt about it though. This lowlife has a type and it's Molly."

"I'll be the judge of that."

He surveyed the room before him, shutting out the din and chatter of any other's in the area. The young woman's body had been posed on the couch of the front hair was brushed out and the same shade of brown as Molly's, tied back in a ponytail. Natural blonde. The same narrow face and slim build. Lips the same light pink hue. Her head was leaning against the arm of the couch, feet tucked under her and face looking towards the television set. As though she'd just been settling down to a quiet night of crap telly with a friend..

 _No forced entry let the assailant into her home alone unsuspecting_

 _murderer known to her Posed care taken_

 _lack of violence bruising around neck- ribbon, silk clothes changed_

 _calculated collected repeat offender_

 _Hair dyed tub clean no lingering smell hair styled_

 _Cat released not escaped loving time skin bitten down to the nail clothes studied_

 _familiar ash drugs_

 _no trays_

 _non smoker docile_

"Have you gone through the flat yet?"

"Course we have. Nothing to be found. Didn't smoke, rarely drank since the bottle of wine on the counter is more than half full, unopened box of condoms in the nightstand and classical music was playing when we came in. So-"

"Classical?"

"Yeah, think it might have been Bach but I'm no-"

"Shut up. Molly speak quickly now, do you listen to classical music at all?" He whirled around on his girlfriend, frowning but unsurprised to see her on her knees looking over the body.

"Um.. in the Morgue sure. When I'm working on someone or have paperwork to do. You know that though-"

"At _home_ Molly, do you listen to it at home?"

"Only when I've had a rough day. It soothes me-"

"I need to see where the music was coming from, right away."

Confused, Lestrade brought him into the kitchen where a stereo was neatly tucked into one corner on the counter.

"No fingerprints-"

"And none of your officers found that the _least_ bit odd?"

"They turned it off, it was grating-"

"Idiots, the whole lot of you. No fingerprints on an electronic that's put into the central part of a home? Look around Lestrade, for heaven's sake, LOOK."

Greg glared, already familiar with Sherlock gearing up towards something.

"I did. Obviously the kitchen was familiar to her but-"

"Not just familiar, it was her place. Look, the kitchen is well stocked, the dishes in the washer are ready to be put away. The chair, it's seat is well worn but not as much as the back cushion of it is. She would come in from work and sit _here ,_ in this chair and she would lean against it in exhaustion, thereby putting the majority of her weight against the back of it, not the seat. If she did this on a regular basis then wouldn't this place be her sanctum? Where she could rest from the day's toils. And yet no fingerprints are found on the stereo, that doesn't strike you as odd? That she'd want to relax here everyday in complete silence when already she lived alone? Whoever killed her tampered with the radio and if it's been wiped down then he wasn't wearing gloves. Which means it was someone she knew but not particularly well, otherwise we'd have found some sort of sign of a male presence…. condoms were unopened?"

Lestrade nodded.

"Not a lover then.. but he cared for her like one. Killed her with silk, posed her sitting comfortably, played music… her hair, did you find any dye in the bathroom?"

"None. Just sleeping pills, toothpaste and the usual toiletries."

That got him thinking. If she wasn't much of a drinker then why the bottle of wine? Especially the 60 dollar brand currently on the counter.. sleeping pills.. and classical music. There was ash in the carpet, behind the arm of the couch. So he'd stood there and had a smoke after he killed her. Like sex… Why put all this effort into someone he didn't love? Unless it was a trial run. There was no hesitation either, someone could have knocked at anytime. No reason to think anyone _wouldn't_ come by…

"Let me hear the music. She was a barista?"

"That's right."

"When did she change her hair?"

"Receipt we found is dated back three weeks ago."

So the plan had been set in motion roughly a month ago. A thing like this took planning, he'd have to have been familiar with the layout to be so 'd have to know her, otherwise why else would a young woman who lived alone let a man into her flat?

"He's done this before. Check the shop she worked at, I'm assuming that's where he found her in the first place. She changed her hair, her clothes, bought condoms.. she had a romantic interest in her killer. Obviously unaware of his obsession. He bought the wine, not her. Take it to the lab, you'll probably find it's been tampered with. No doubt he knew she took sleeping pills, it probably came up in conversation one day. She'd grown accustomed to any taste left by them, mixed with the wine her brain would never register the difference. Most women keep the blonde or go for something striking, either darker or in a red shade. Which means he mentioned he had a type and she changed to suit that type. He was grooming her and grooming takes time so no doubt he'd become a regular at the shop. Classical. Now."

Irritated by 1) the demand and 2) the fact that he was secretly highly impressed by all that Sherlock had inferred from getting hair done and a wine bottle, Lestrade did as bid, going to switch the stereo back on.

"It's so familiar but I can't place it. Drives me mad." Lestrade shook his head as the piece re-started. Both Molly and Sherlock froze.

"That's John and Mary's waltz. Sherlock, you played it at the wedding. How could the killer know that? Why would he play it here?" Molly questioned, voice shaking. Lestrade looked between the two of them.

"Sherlock, if this guy's got a target on your back, I think we ought to consider putting Molly-"

"Putting me where? I'm not going anywhere!" Molly interrupted hotly.

"Without me by your side, certainly not."

"Sherlock-"

"I need to make a phone call."

He stormed out, phone already at his ear just as John came in.

"Lestrade. Molly. What I miss?"

 **Gritting his teeth, Sherlock waited as the phone continued to wring.** He was being forced to wait on purpose and they both knew it.

"Ah, brother mine. To what do I owe this abrupt connection? Usually you send along a text at best."

"I want you to put a detail on Molly Hooper."

"The pathologist? And why, pray tell, should I do that?"

"There's a case. The murderer has a type. And it fits her."

"That means nothing to me."

"Whoever did this is using her, to get to me. They left a CD at the crime scene of the waltz I played for the Watson nuptials."

"And whatever gave them the idea Miss Hooper was to be a source of contention?"

"That's not important."

"Oh little brother… you've gone and got a goldfish haven't you? Dear me and I thought after that spectacle you made over her date at the restaurant-"

"I want you to put a detail on her. Her life is in danger."

"Yes and my Saturday evening will be in danger next weekend. Mummy insists I attend dinner and the ballet with she and father."

"Not my problem."

"Nor is Miss Hooper mine."

He snarled but Mycroft had his back to the wall.

"Fine."  
"Excellent. I'll ensure Althea handles the necessary precautions."

He hung up, in a real pisser of a mood.A crazed whack job after his pathologist. Date ruined. Molly afraid. Dinner with his parents.

In short, courtship the Sherlock way.


	8. Chapter 8: Patterns Align

**Little Darcy's I asked nicely and our favorite detective duo has agreed: if you've got a question, they'll answer it! That is Molly, the Watson's, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson- basically everybody but Sherlock. He'll respond but you know him, it'll be all deductions and possibly several insults soooo… question at your own risk. Also yes, this chapter is late but I had some serious personal business this past week and am still dealing with the fallout. So please forgive me.**

 **Chapter 8: Patterns align**

"What do you mean I'm living here?!"

Sherlock looked up from his laptop, facing down one irate Molly Hooper. After reviewing the scene and a quick talk with John, he' decided the best course of action would be to keep Molly as close as possible until the murderer had been caught.

He'd settled in at the desk, already following the trail of his galloping thoughts. When she'd mentioned needing to get home, he'd taken that as the opportunity to inform her of the plan. He'd expected she would be pleased at his wish to keep her safe. Possibly even view it as a sign of his deep and lasting affection.

Instead, here she was angry with him. Hands on her slim hips and still in her curvy red ensemble, she glared back down at her confused detective.

"It's the obvious choice."

"And how is that exactly?"

"If you're here I know you're safe. What's more, precautions are easier to follow with us both in the same living space. Should you be attacked, I'll be near enough to defend you."

"Who says I can't defend myself?!"

Sherlock actually snickered at that.

"While I find your spirit admirable, I'm going to have to contradict you. You're no fighter Molly. You stand at barely five feet, you're nervous as a kitten and would be woefully unprepared should you be taken unawares."

Her eyes hardened, stiff posture and clenched fists telling Sherlock he'd made a rather unfortunate faux-pas. John poked his head in from the kitchen where he was busily steeping tea.

"Sherlock." Reproving.

"Not good?" Responding.

"Bit not good, yeah. Molly-"

She shook her head.

"I have to show him otherwise John."

Accepting him, even with his many faults. Sherlock didn't think he'd ever quite get used to it.

"Come here Sherlock."

"I understand domestic disputes are common in all relationships but we have more pressing-"

"This is about my safety. Is something more pressing than that?"

He stood, closing the laptop and walking over to his pathologist. Peering down at her, he resisted the urge to pull her in tight. Nothing at all in this wretched world was more important to him then she.

Molly rested her hands on his chest,smoothing them upward until they reached his collar. Unsure of where this was heading or what it had to do with being safe, he watched in silence as she stood on her toes and tugged him down to hover above her lips.

"Sherlock?"

"Ye.. yes Molly?"

He thought she wanted to kiss him. Perhaps a way of reassurance through physical contact? But when he tried to do so, she was using that hold to yank him down to a headbutt.

Sherlock saw stars while Molly jumped, slinging an arm around the back of his neck and using his own unsteady weight to bring him to his knees. Just as his vision cleared, she twisted his arm around and bent it at the wrist, her knee in the small of his back.

"Sherlock I move bodies around all day. I have lived alone for years. I have, as you've so often pointed out, a type. A fascination with sociopaths, such as yourself darling. And speaking of, you were gone. Or don't you remember? Three years gone and me being here _every_ day, the only one to know your secret. Alone. I don't _need_ your protection. I don't _need_ you to baby me or to shut me out from the world while you go off halfcocked being Sherlock Holmes the famous consulting detective. What I _need_ …"

She released him then, kneeling and rubbing the soreness away before taking ahold of his hand.

"What I need you to do is trust me. Trust I will always take steps to keep myself safe so as not to worry you. Trust that I was strong enough to help you before and I'm strong enough to be yours now. What I need Sherlock is you. Just you. Tell me it's going to be okay, tell me we're going to find who did this and stop him from hurting anyone else. And you to come back, safe and my Sherlock. Please."

He was silent for a few brief seconds.

"When on earth did you learn that? I was unaware of you taking classes for self defense." He finally asked. She smiled, shy and skittish Molly once more at the forefront.

"While you were gone. Some time before it. When I found out about Jim I.." She shrugged. "Precautions were necessary." "I see."

He stood, offering her a hand to help the young woman up. His thumb skimmed over her cheek, eyes soft. She tried to stay firm.

"It's late. I should go."

"I don't require sleep on cases."

"I.. need to change. And don't have any Jim jams-"

 _Steady Molly._

"Something of mine would suffice I think."

 _Do not let his puppy eyes or the offer of wearing his clothes sway you._

"I.. I don't want to kick you out of your own bed-"

 _Is he rubbing my neck?_

"We've shared before. We can do so again, surely."

 _He was definitely rubbing her neck. Hitting the exact spot to rub out the tensions of the day._

"Toby! I have to feed Toby."

 _Evil man with his magic hands._

"One of Lestrade's men brought him by. He's around here somewhere, most probably bothering John."

 _I can't just let my pet go hungry, get it together Molly Hooper!_

"And if you'd like, I happened to have studied the art of full body and hot stone massage."

 _One night won't kill him, Toby could stand to lose a few pounds._

"Maybe just one cup of tea before I go."

 **The next morning, Molly awoke in an unfamiliar bed and alone.** While aware that Sherlock did not sleep on cases, and not prepared to take the relationship further just yet, she _had_ been hoping to at least have a morning snuggle. Shaking her head, she stretched and got up, wandering into the main room. Toby curled around her ankles, meowing pitifully for his breakfast and she fed him before going to look in on her detective.

Sherlock was lying on his back on the couch, fingers steepled and eyes unseeing. Last night he'd provided an old gray t-shirt well worn from his college days and a pair of pajama pants that she'd had to draw tight and roll up so as not to trip. He'd given her a kiss, told her where the towels were and then was back to business.

Not wanting to disturb him, she went back to where the bathroom was and washed up for the day. Barefoot and refreshed, she put the kettle on and thought she might take a look into the fridge. She'd been wondering how he was getting along since John was no longer his flatmate.

According to the fridge, not well. There were several experiments, a box from angelo's, some condiment packets and a couple spare limbs. She also found a (surprisingly) unspoiled gallon of milk and half a loaf of bread. The freezer was in a similar state.

Besides this though, the place was a wreck. There were medical journals, a bunsen burner, test tubes and all sorts of scientific paraphernalia covering the table. Coffee mugs growing mold and other indistinguishable substances littered the counter tops and various poisons took up most of the cabinet space. Bits of wire, scraps of paper, case files and body charts took up the rest.

Molly Hooper saw all this and only thought of how much easier it would be to perform the experiments if the place were tidy. One could not move about freely or find their notes in a mess such as this. Something would have to be done.

Unsure of how long Sherlock may be in his mind palace, she used the milk and bread for toast and tea, then set to work. Might as well make herself useful.

 **Sherlock's senses came back to him slowly as he closed the door to his mind palace.** He could smell hot tea and the remnants of toast and that was when he remembered Molly.

 _She slept here last night-_

 _That's right she did you royal pain in the arse._

 _The case-_

 _How do you know she wasn't afraid? Didn't wake up in tears?!_

 _Molly knows I don't do that sort of-_

 _She's supposed to be different Sherlock._

Mental John started in on him, already giving hell about neglecting his significant other. Sherlock quickly padlocked the imaginary man's mind palace bedroom and rose, frowning across the room at an oblivious Molly. She was heavily engrossed with a medical text, every so often talking softly to Toby who had claimed Sherlock's chair for his own. It sounded as though she were having some sort of medical debate with the cat, who occasionally meowed back.

Sherlock then became aware of that warmth that seemed to rise in his middle every time he was with his pathologist. Scientifically speaking, it was a chemical response most likely due to the pheromones she exuded based on where she was in her monthly cycle…

"Oh you're up! I made a fresh pot of tea if you'd like some- Sherlock? What is it?"

He blinked, realizing he'd been staring. She tilted her head in concern.

"What?"

"You were smiling.. like you had a secret."

"What secrets could I possibly wish to keep from you?"

"That you're happy, for one thing. Otherwise that feeling may go away, am I right?"

He glared, trying to mask the anxiety at his motives being obvious to her.

"Do _not_ psychoanalyze me Molly."

"I didn't mean for it to sound that way. Just... Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine. And I don't eat when I'm on a case, you know that." He retorted, embarrassed at being so transparent.

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes I do. Which is why I made you tea instead. Tea isn't food, it's a beverage. And if you don't stay hydrated then the recesses of your mind begin to slow, thus defeating the purpose of not eating. Now go fill up a mug and drink every drop."

Order given she returned to her book and cat conversations. Still a bit annoyed, Sherlock went into the kitchen and froze. This wasn't his kitchen. It couldn't be.

The entire place was… _clean._ He could actually see the kitchen table, scrubbed and and cool to the touch. His papers were in a neat pile, in alphabetical order and then arranged into three separate stacks: Current experiments, recent experiments and notes pertaining to. The microscope and burner were on a now clear counter, side by side and at the ready.

The formerly mug covered counter opposite was also cleared off. Different fungi and experiments he'd been meaning to dispose of for ages had been cleared away and removed from the flat. The others were labeled based on growth which he assumed had been found out from his notes and kept in the cabinet nearest the fridge. Clearly labeled : DO NOT DRINK, he avoided grabbing a mug from that cabinet and went to the other labeled: DISHES ONLY

Perhaps the most surprising thing was a mini fridge, tucked away neatly in the corner and padlocked. Using the key sitting atop it, he opened it and found the various limbs that were formerly in the fridge. This too was labeled FINGER FOOD (no doubt Molly's idea of a morbid joke) and the main fridge was sparkling.

Having taken all this in, he glanced at the clock and was surprised to find that it was already 11:30, very nearly lunchtime. He'd been in his mind palace for over 12 hours. And all this time, his Molly had been doing this for him. Unasked. Hoping only to be a help.

"I… organized some things. If you don't like it I can put it back-"

"How did you manage to get a mini fridge in here exactly?"

She looked up from the text she was marking.

"John. I ordered it and he picked it up. That is, Mycroft managed to procure it for me. He called asking about you but I said you were on a case. I didn't say what I wanted it for though."

"Probably he thinks you're an alcoholic."

He commented, returning to the main room. She bit her lip,smiling nervously.

"I don't suppose that would make a good impression at the family dinner would it?"

One eyebrow rose neatly.

"Who told you about that?"

"Bout what?"

"Dinner with my parents."

She paled.

"Your what?"

"Surely Molly you're aware all life comes from procreation. We may even do some of our own should the relationship progress favorably."

"Sorry, what?"

"Children Molly, don't be dull. Where's my safety glasses?"

"Left drawer on the right of the stove- children? You think we're going to have children? I mean.. well we've- wait, you _want_ children?"

"My genetics obviously are something of oddity, in that they are exceptional. Paired with your own DNA, our procreation would most likely result in a highly intelligent, practical and attractive offspring."

She was still trying to wrap her head around this when he came over and gave her a kiss that served to fuzz her mind further.

"Did Mycroft leave any messages?"

"Um… um, yes he.. uh, he says don't forget goldfish require daily feeding and the occasional display of affection. Are you thinking of getting a pet?" He glanced over at the still confused young woman, in the midst of setting up a new slide.

"A mouse, perhaps."


	9. Chapter 9: Meeting the folks

**So little Darcy's we're gonna have a bit of intrigue and a bit of fluff but mostly humor cause who doesn't love a clueless Sherlock?** **Also, anything you guys wanna see? Review and let me know!**

 **Chapter 9: Meeting the folks**

"Sherlock!"

"John did it."

"Don't pin this on me mate. Just popping off, bye Molly!"

John Watson left the clearly uncomfortable detective alone, having seen more than once just how thorough a tongue lashing from Molly Hooper could be. The pair had been living together for a week and while it was going surprisingly well, Sherlock was still… well. Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" Molly called again, sounding horrified.

"Is it another arachnid? Remember Molly, you're much larger than-"

"No it's not a spider!"

He looked up from the microscope as she hurried in, carrying a bucket.

"Wha-"

"Did you take my best knickers and _experiment_ on them?!"

"Well-"

"Sherlock that set cost me a good 40 pounds!"

"You said I might use them." He reminded her. She scowled.

"I _said_ you could use the set with cherries on them. Not my good blue lace!"

Together, they peered in at the bucket's contents. Half the bra had already dissolved while the panties were almost completely gone.

"Interesting that there's no discoloration.." Sherlock mumbled, already losing himself in his work again.

"Whatever solvent you used must not be absorbent, otherwise I think- No. No! You're in trouble, I'm not happy with you right now."

"I'll just buy you new ones." He replied carelessly, tilting his head in confusion when she still seemed frustrated.

"Sherlock that's not- Look. I have no problem with helping with your experiments. You know that. But… but I need you to please respect my things the same way I do. I can't just go out and buy new stuff, I have to budget."

"If it's a monetary issue, I will of course provide everything you need-"

"I couldn't let you do that."

It was Sherlock's turn to frown.

"Why not?"

"Because.. Because I don't want to spend all your money on silly things like-"

"Like necessities? You must have undergarments. I ruined a pair so why should I not replace them? Your line of thinking is irrational at best. And money is of no consequence to me. Who else would I spend it on? Toby?"

Both humans turned to look at the snoozing cat. The tension slowly left the room.

"He might enjoy silk jammies." Molly offered.

"Ah, but who would wear it better?" Sherlock replied.

"I think I might be a close second actually."

He smiled, a genuine Sherlock Holmes grin that curved up his lips and made his eyes soft. Molly never could stay mad for long.

"You don't have to spend so much on them, really those were an impulse buy." She admitted. His smile turned into a smirk.

"I insist you wear only the best Miss Hooper."

"Wh.. why is that? Exactly?" She mentally smacked herself as her voice squawked in confirmation of her stomach butterflies.

"So I might see how they look on you, of course…" His baritone sunk impossibly lower. " And possibly off."

Her mouth dropped, but just as quickly closed once more. Still smirking, he turned back to his microscope, leaving Molly scandalized but fighting a silly grin doing it's best to take over her features. Crisis averted.

 **Two days later she found far more pressing matters on the mind.** Still on her guard, her anxiety rose further at the thought of trying to relax while (1), There was a murderer on the loose, interested in her demise and (2), having dinner with her boyfriend's parents.

When she'd met Tom's family, she wasn't nearly as concerned. Tom had been a down to earth sort of bloke and his family was just like him. His mum made spaghetti bolognese and his dad talked about the latest matches on telly. Even his siblings were well behaved. They all made polite and non-committal remarks about her line of employment and all were fairly welcoming.

Now, she was meeting the people who'd raised _Sherlock._ High-functioning sociopath, lovable but clueless arse and the world's only consulting detective.

No doubt they were just as intelligent and observant as he. What if they were cold and snarky like Mycroft? Would they look down on her for not being as smart as their son? Good lord what if she said something completely idiotic?! Still, it was easier to worry over the rapidly approaching dinner then who might want to see her dead.

She'd fluttered about the flat, busily dusting and polishing every surface until both Toby _and_ Sherlock were fed up.

"Molly if you don't stop that infernal-"

"I'm sorry I just.. I'm a bit anxious, that's all. I'll stop."

"Thank you."

He went back to researching the growth rate of maggots, typing away until he became aware of the cat's persistent yowling.

"Wha-"

Toby hissed in response, paw lashing out at the vaccum currently being run over by his (formerly) beloved owner.

"MOLLY!"

She jumped a foot, hand jerking in surprise and the cord was ripped from the wall. With a new silence settling, Toby streaked past the aggravating adults in search of solitude.

"I-"

"Come here."

Meekly, almost child like, Molly did as told. He tugged her into his lap, gently nudging her head onto his shoulder. With one hand secure around her middle, the other went up into her hair, gently massaging away the tension headache that began to develop. After a few minutes, she was calm and quiet.

"Is the evening ahead really so frightening a prospect?" He murmured.

"What if they hate me?"  
"Molly Hooper, even Moriarty himself couldn't hate you."

"Yeah but.. But you're _you_. I'm just-"

"You're my Molly. That's all they need know."

Sometimes, Sherlock could be an arse. But sometimes, he knew exactly the right thing to say.

" **Holmes, party of four."**

" **Right this way please sir."**

The maitre'd led Sherlock and Molly to one of the best tables in the house, overlooking the river thames. Already seated were an older man and woman, who rose as they were shown to their table.

"Molly, my parents. Mummy, Father.. Dr. Molly Hooper."

The man was the first to make a move, smiling warmly as he reached out to shake Molly's hand. He kissed the top of her hand, causing Molly to break into a genuine smile of her own.

"Sherlock, you've found yourself a lovely young woman. So nice to meet you Dr. Hooper."

"Likewise sir."

Sherlock was already moving to accept a hug from his mother, letting out a long suffering sigh despite the way he lingered in his mother's comforting embrace. Molly could see he'd gotten his father's facial structure but his mother's eagle eyed gaze and she was a rather formidable woman at that. Looking regal in black gossamer, the same look of assessment Sherlock was so famous for now crossed the woman's features.

"Sherlock. You've told us so little about Miss Hooper."

"It's a rather new development mummy."

"Not according to Myc. Why don't we all sit down, hmm?"

Sherlock moved to pull out Molly's chair for her and then sat down himself. Truthfully, he was more than a little nervous himself. Truthfully, he'd never cared enough to be worried what his parents would think. And he would certainly never do something so rudimentary as to "bring a girl home to his folks".

But this was Molly Hooper. His pathologist. _His_ Molly.

"So, what do you do for work Miss Hooper?"

"Doctor." Sherlock corrected.

"Doctor of…?" His mother prodded.

"I'm a pathologist. Fancy way of saying I have crisps with the dead." Molly joked, instantly cringing as though expecting a rebuke. But unbeknownst to her, (and very much known to Sherlock) his mother's sense of humor often lended itself towards the macabre.

"I don't suppose they make good conversation? Probably a real cold fish?"

"They bore me to death."

"Than I hope you've got a good assistant!"

Both women cackled, while son and father shared a look. It seemed Sherlock's worry was for naught.


	10. Chapter 10: Never a normal night

**Hi everyone! So while this comes along, know that I'm currently doing work on a new Sherlock fic, this time a Kidlock. So if anybody is interested, review and let me know if there's anything you'd like to see. It may just appear in the new story :)**

 **Chapter 10: Never a normal night**

For the most part, dinner had gone well. Sherlock's parents were as warm as Mycroft could be cold and Molly thoroughly enjoyed the anecdotes told to his blushing displeasure. Mr. Holmes was less talkative than his wife but also worked hard to put Molly at ease.

"It must be so interesting, working at Barts. I myself am a big fan of the museum on the hospital grounds though I suppose you've seen it lots of times." He commented.

"Hundreds I think. But then, there's always some new oddity to see and I never have time enough to learn all I'd like to." She replied, thrilled at finding a kindred spirit in Sherlock's father.

"That's just like our Sherlock. Even when he was little. He used to go into the land behind our home for hours on end and come home in _such_ tatters I declare-"

"Mummy I don't think she wants to hear about-"

"Now don't interrupt me when I'm talking Sherlock that's quite rude. Anyhow, there was a day when it was an absolute deluge and poor little Sherlock, he comes running in all distraught because bees can't fly in rain and so we spent the morning building a hive to set up as a sort of halfway house for lost bees! But then, that's Sherlock for you. His brain always so busy, running away with his thoughts before he's aware they've moved." His mother finished up, beaming proudly at her youngest son. He groaned in response, covering his face.

"Elbows off the table. You might be an adult but I raised you to manhood with manners." She scolded. He did as told but the glare he shot Molly was clear:

Not so much as a giggle.

Eyes full of mirth, she smiled into her napkin. Watching the childish detective sulk under his mother's stern gaze was a sight her memory would enjoy revisiting for years to come.

 **Sherlock motioned to the curtained balcony that overlooked the whole of the stage,directing their small party to their seats.** The evening had already far surpassed Molly's expectations and it was only half over! While Molly was pleased by the privacy, she'd never been to such a fine place. The entryway to the ballet had been marble floors and a fountain in the center that had shone with small golden lights. The balcony itself had rich velvet curtains and seats that looked more comfortable than the couch back in her own flat. Women around her were in some of their best finery while the men looked incredibly debonair. Molly couldn't help but feel dowdy and drab in comparison.

"Problem?"

Just as she'd begun to back up against the wall, Sherlock was there and smoothly guiding her into a chair.

"It's.. it's a little overwhelming." She admitted. Cool fingers moved to her wrist, the firm clasp grounding her here in the moment.

"Your pulse is elevated, are you feeling ill?"  
His question caught the attention of his parents, much to Molly's mortification.

"Molly's sick?"  
"I think I have some antacid chews in my clutch-"

His mother was rummaging around in her handbag and Molly could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

"No really, I'm alright. Just need a little air. Won't you excuse me?"

Waving off their concern, she stepped out to where a few people were still milling about and tugged her wrap closer about her shoulders. The evening had been going so well and now they probably thought she was some kind of flighty loon. What else was going to go wrong?

"Molly?"  
For pity's sake.

"Oh, hello.. Tom. Um.. what- what a surprise."

She offered a weak smile to the young man who was smiling back in a far more genuine was in his own suit and coat, gloves still on as though he'd only just come hurrying in.

"I never realized you liked the ballet."

 _Of course, why would I like ballet? You know I only took classes for about 12 years._

"Yes, well.. It's a hobby of mine you might say."

"You- have you come with someone then, or-"

"Well I- yes but um, what I mean is-"

"Molly?"

"Sherlock?"  
"Mr. Holmes?"  
"Hello.. Tom."

The awkward tension rose several notches as Sherlock entered the scene. He'd come looking for Molly and instead found meat dagger undressing the pathologist with his eyes.

"You're at the Ballet too?"

"With Molly on my arm, yes."

"With Mo- oh. Oh."

Tom looked between the two of them and Molly felt like crawling into a hole. His distaste was almost palpable.

"So you _were_ shagging him."

"Tom!"

"Don't. I mean.. I mean I don't know how often I tried to ask you after we were over-"

"Tom-"

He sneered at the protective arm Sherlock had encircled about her waist. Her stomach dropped another few inches.

"You're basically his groupie, do you know that? He'll get bored and then-"

If she'd had time to process his movement, Molly might have screamed for her boyfriend to stop. But as it was, his body's response to a verbal assault towards her was second only to the speed with which Sherlock had thought out the attack. He threw a right hook that caught the man in the jaw and had him lying on the floor before anyone in the vicinity could blink. He squatted down, eyes meeting the other man's and voice low with rage.

"The only reason I don't finish you off is because I assume you're emotionally distraught. Clearly, you're projecting your feelings onto Molly, simply because she grew bored with you. Really, you ought to be thankful she managed to stay awake for more than five minutes into your first date. Speak to her like that again, so much as insinuate she's anything less than perfection and I will ensure you suffer dearly."

He then stood, wiped his hands on his handkerchief and offered the still open mouthed pathologist his hand.

"Shall we?"

Wordlessly, she nodded and followed him back to their balcony. Just before they re-entered, she tugged him down for a tight hug.

"That was.. Thank you. So much. But I'm not perfect and you can't just hit people who are mean to me." She whispered.

"Normally I'd have had my network destroy the transmission of his car or put termites in the foundation of his living arrangements but I had to work with what was at hand." He whispered back. Molly tried but didn't quite manage to stifle her giggles.

"NO termites, you might inadvertently hurt an innocent bystander."

"Molly Hooper, could it be? Do you have a vindictive streak after all?"  
"I like to keep people on their toes."

Feeling miles better she took her seat, hand firmly in Sherlock's. Nothing was going to ruin the evening, not even her lousy ex.

" **Shall we get some dessert before the evening ends? My treat."** Mr. Holmes announced as they exited the production. Molly was still dreamy eyed from the wonderful performance and had to fight the urge to sashay out of the building.

"I think that'd be lovely. Sherlock? Will you and Molly join us?" Despite this "request" from Mummy Holmes, Sherlock recognized the look she was giving him. She was going to milk this night for all it was worth.

"If Molly wishes it."

"I wouldn't mind."

"Fantastic! Shall we-"

They paused as both Sherlock and Molly's phones went off simultaneously. Sherlock with a call from Lestrade, Molly with a call from Mike Stamford. They excused themselves briefly, speaking for a minute before hanging up. They shared a look and Sherlock's parents did the same.

"Rain check?" Mr. Holmes smiled kindly, enough so that Molly felt like a right heel for having to rush away.

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Not in the least! Don't you be a stranger now Molly. Sherlock you found a good girl so be sure and be nice." His mother ordered. He nodded and accepted her kiss to the cheek, while his father hugged Molly. Once the goodbyes were done, he put his parents in one cab and flagged down another for he and Molly.

"A case?"She asked as they climbed nodded and gave the destinations to the cabbie.

"The same. They need you at the Morgue for..?"  
"Another body pertaining to your case."

He frowned, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I don't.. This was not part of the evening's itinerary."

"Wh-"

"I'm going to be unable to return you to your home for the evening. If I can't see you safely home then how will I know the evening has been ended satisfactorily?"

"You could always just ask me."

His confusion only grew while she smiled.

"I've been reliably informed women wish to be romanced and that's not-"

"Romance is different for everyone Sherlock. I think we're pretty much the poster children for that."

"Yes, well-"

"Here."

As the cab pulled up outside of St. Bart's, she kissed the detective soundly and left him stammering as she got out.

"That usually means things went well. Your parents are wonderful. Now you go to your crime scene, I'll prep the morgue and we'll see what Greg has." She was careful to wipe the smudge of lipstick from the corner of his mouth and both smiled while he passed her purse through the window.

"Molly Hooper you are a wonder."

"Every so often, yes. Be careful. Don't get anything on this suit, I rather like it."

"Yes Doctor."

She gave him another peck and headed inside the hospital while Sherlock rode on. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner he could focus on having a _real_ relationship with Molly.


	11. Chapter 11: Where there's smoke

**As i've mentioned in another fic update, I've got my world coming down around my ears and truthfully it's all I can do to have a single coherent thought. But hopefully these scribbles of mine put a smile on someone's face and to all out there, kisses little Darcy's.**

 **Chapter 11: Where there's smoke**

Watson had been expecting a call from Sherlock pertaining to his evening, possibly moaning over being forced to sit through dinner and a show with his parents. Instead, he'd been sent for to join the detective at a crime scene. When he got there, one of Lestrade's men let him through to where the body and his best friend were.

"You know, I was rather enjoying my night in-"

"Be quiet John, how am I supposed to think with all your dithering?!"

"Oi! I'm not gonna-"

"John, a word?"

Lestrade motioned for him to come over, visibly shaken. The body was blocked off and a lone technician was taking samples behind the screen that had been set up. A peek behind the curtain left John sighing grimly, the body was once again posed as though the victim were having a night in. This was the third body and still, there were few leads. Crime scene photos were being taken, officers lingered outside but John was confused by the lack of police presence in the actual room.

"What's going on?" He asked. Lestrade's fingers touched his breast pocket, patting it down and searching for the cigarettes he'd been trying so hard to quit.

"It's.. I think Sherlock's afraid."

At this, John could do little less than scoff. Sherlock wasn't afraid of anything. The only time he seemed to have been, it turned out he was under the influence of a man made pathogen.

"Could be he's just in a pisser of a mood-"

"You're not hearing me John. This case.. This case is different. Victim's name is Haley Moore"

Really confused now, he looked back towards the screened off kitchen. Sherlock was pacing, head darting back and forth as he processed the scene. He joined them as John was still trying to catch up to what the problem was.

"I know there were a great deal of facial similarities to Molly bu-"

Sherlock cut in, voice like ice in it's intensity.

"John, her hair has been dyed. Her makeup the same brand Molly uses but the tube of gloss and the other containers are all fresh. Even her clothes, the clothes she's wearing were just purchased from a consignment shop! He's sending me a message, he's playing a game with us now John!"

He paled, just as concerned for their friend as the others but trying to remain levelheaded.

"So what's the fascination with Molly? If you're right-"

"Of course I'm right John you'd be idiotic to think otherwise."

He folded his arms, putting on his best "stern daddy Watson" face as Mary liked to call it.

"Calm down. Flying off the handle won't help you think straight. He's trying to send you a message you said, so what's he saying?"

"I need to look at the body again, I'm missing something-"

Lestrade shook his head, finally successful in bumming a cigarette off one of the men on scene. He took his lighter out, ready to light up but paused to inform them:

"Sorry Sherlock, it's already being sent to Barts-"

"What, why?! Molly-"

"She's the best Sherlock. We all know th-." He sighed, not bothering to finish his reassurance as the genius dashed off to his next destination.

" **I got nothing from the clothes or makeup in preliminary but I'm still waiting on results."** Molly was mostly the same, the only sign of her nerves the occasional shake or pause in her work. She was still the height of professionalism and she still referred to her victim by the woman's name. The body on the slab was alarmingly similar to her own but she was beginning to see minute differences to help keep a mental distance. Most importantly, Haley Moore was dead. Molly Hooper was not. Carefully she removed organs and offered her boyfriend a pair of gloves.

"Why this one? What ruined the fantasy?" She inhaled sharply but continued taking her tissue samples while John hauled him back.

"What?"

"Maybe don't talk shop like that in front of the missus."

His brow furrowed and he glanced back at Molly.

"She's fine."

"She's scared."

"Molly loves solving mysteries just as much as I do John, surely-"

"But not when they hit this close to home. _Surely_ that is something we understand, hmm?"

Their eyes connected, Sherlock's softening into yet another guilty apology for the pain he'd caused and John's accepting said apology.

"Oh. I.. I suppose you're right."

"Good. So we understand one another, yeah? Just.. reign it in a little."

He nodded and returned to the tiny pathologist's side. When she looked up, he was busily pulling on the offered gloves.

"Molly, I recognize this case holds an upsetting significance. I apologize for any insensitive comments on my part in the process of solving it. Also, I think he killed her because she smoked and that ruined the illusion he was caught up in during the process of wooing her. Contusions to her throat would suggest this caused an outburst of anger from an otherwise calculating assailant. So he's no professional which means I will catch him that much sooner."

Little speech over with he bent back over the body, gleaning all he could from the corpse. John clapped a hand to his forehead but Molly was comforted all the same. And what better to keep her mind off her troubles than to be proactive and help solve them?

"Haley hadn't smoked for very long or perhaps she'd only just begun."

"How can you tell that?" Lestrade asked, borrowed cigarette still twirling in between his fingers.

" I see none of the usual effects on the esophagus lining...I thought you quit?"

"It's been a long day." He replied. She smiled with a little shake of her head, a response that left Sherlock glaring at the tired inspector.

"Yes well.. You just be sure to dispose of the rest of the pack inspector."

"No problem, Jared from homicide gave it to me."

"Just che- wait a second."

Sherlock looked up at her "aha!" tone.

"What?"

"Whoever did this, they didn't plan for it. This man is smart, he has patience which we know from how carefully he studied his victims. The time alone it takes to pose them, that's no spree killer. But he missed something, Haley was dabbling in smoking-"

"Obviously, do catch up."

If his instinctual snap bothered her, she didn't show it. Instead, she frowned and went to look at the personal effects she'd also be testing. John leaned forward, curiosity peaking.

"What is it Molls?"

"If she hadn't made a habit of smoking, we shouldn't find any cartons among her things. She would get them off someone else, maybe a coworker or a friend. Or in this case-"

"The killer's own package." Sherlock finished for her, a note of pride flooding his voice. She blushed at the praise, determinedly fighting the urge to kiss her handsome detective.

"Here, hang on.. Here we go." Greg fished an evidence bag out of the box, labeled and marked with the cigarette inside.

"Give you ten quid the ash we found at the first two scenes will match it, eh?" John crowed. Finally, some good news. Smiling, Molly readied two samples for testing and then a third on a slide for Sherlock to compare to the ash found near the first two bodies. John went to text Mary an update about the discovery while Lestrade took his smoke outside. Left alone, Sherlock's sole focus was on his examination until thin, cool arms wrapped themselves about his waist.

"I'm going to find him." He murmured.

"I know you will." Her cheek rested on his back, her words whispered.

"I won't let him hurt you Molly Hooper."

"I know that too."

She closed her eyes, let her breathing match his own and inhaled deeply to shake off the chill of the morgue. She was afraid, no matter how she fought her fear. And he was worried, the tense muscles of his shoulders saying what he would not.

"We can do this. Together Sherlock."

"I would have it no other way."

 _-In an undisclosed location-_

" _My name is Melody!"_

" _NO! YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG AGAIN!"_

 _He was seething, why wouldn't she just do it right?! She was going to ruin all of his hard work if he couldn't get her back under control. The teary eyed young woman jumped at his outburst, frightened into silence once more. He took a breath and let it out slowly. She didn't respond well to anger. He could do this. They both just needed to calm down. Carefully he prepared a needle and injected it into her bloodstream, ignoring pleas and protests. Her eyes grew heavy and her body limp, soon floating easily as he put her to bed._

" _There's a good girl. Your name is Molly sweetheart. Repeat that back to me. My name is Molly."_

" _My name is Molly."_

" _My name is Molly Hooper and you're going to die Sherlock. Repeat that for me sweetheart."_

" _My name is Molly Hooper and you're going to die Sherlock."_

" _Now. Say goodnight Molly."_

" _Goodnight."_

" _That's my lamb. Tomorrow is a new day, get some rest so we can start on your next lesson."_

 _He tucked the covers in a little closer, kissing her forehead tenderly and stepping back to admire his handiwork. He was still internally debating if he wanted to keep this one or not but she had a tendency to be argumentative so perhaps not. Decisions, Decisions._


	12. Chapter 12: A package

**As some of you may remember, I've been doing my best to arrange messy life issues. Things have calmed down enough that I can write a little, so here's the next bit. Sorry it's on the shorter side. Also, I really like the ominous sounding title I gave this chapter**

 **Chapter 12: A package**

As someone who worked with the dead, Molly didn't scare easily. And while she cared a great deal about him, dating Sherlock Holmes was not for the faint of heart. So to say she was frightened was no small matter.

But she was.

A fourth body had been found. All the particulars remained the same. The dyed hair, the oddball ("cheerful!" Molly insisted) clothes, the simple makeup and the ponytail up-do. But this time, the prettily painted lips had been forced into a dreamy smile. Tests she ran in the lab provided the cause: fast acting botox injections to hold the mouth in place. Once the effects wore off, rigor mortis carried the victim's smile over into the afterlife.

She'd actually covered the face once samples were taken. It made her skin crawl to see the girl grinning back at her and she'd eventually caved and draped a sheet over her. For once, Sherlock had no scathing remark to make towards what he surely viewed as foolish. Instead, he'd been all business. Once all the facts had been had and they'd gleaned all they could, John and the Inspector left to see about hailing a cab while Sherlock stayed behind.

"We're getting closer. He's growing bold now Molly, he'll begin to make mistakes." He promised. She shook her head grimly, turning her back to the detective while she washed her hands clean.

"He's got some sort of agenda Sherlock. These women are just part of one big game he wants you to play. And somehow I've become the checkmate." Molly continued, scrubbing hard in the hopes the hollow chill in the pit of her stomach would begin to thaw. The water stopped running and she could feel the eagle-eyed gaze of her boyfriend searing into her body.

"I'm going to find him."

"I know."

"You wonder how many more victims there'll be."

"Am I so obvious?"

"Only to me."

 **A few days later, Molly was doing her best to remember his words.** She'd worked very hard to reach the career level she currently enjoyed and hated the idea that anyone walking down the street could see right through her. With the case wearing heavily on her mind, she took the morning off and slept in. Sherlock was already gone once she'd risen but there was fresh tea and warm muffins settled in towel wrapped basket when she went to the kitchen. Beside it was a large manilla envelope and a note in Mrs. Hudson's handwriting:

 _This came in the post for you Sherlock so I brought it up with the tea. Do try and be sure to grab your packages as you come and go, they pile up so untidily. Be sure and leave some for Molly now!_

 _-Mrs. Hudson (still not your housekeeper)_

Chuckling at her post script, Molly helped herself to a muffin and poured a mug of tea. This done she shot off a text to Sherlock, asking what to do about the envelope. Accustomed to his choppy responses, she could only smile at his reply:

 _Don't care, open it if you like._

 _SH_

Munching on her breakfast, she curled up in Sherlock's chair and used the ivory-handle steel blade letter opener to slit the top. There was no return address and the only thing inside was a plastic CD case. Inside was a disk, again with no note or anything that might identify the sender. Molly's chest tightened as a feeling of foreboding overtook her.

 _Don't be stupid Molly. It's a perfectly normal envelope, probably from a client._

So why did it feel like she was turning a bomb over in her hands? As she continued to contemplate the odd package, Toby springing up into the chair beside her startled the woman badly enough to drop the disc.

"Oh! Beastly thing… I suppose you smelt the muffins too hmm?" Her cat meowed in response, rubbing against her belly and bopping his head on her knuckles for a pet. Or, far more likely, for a muffin morsel of his own. Molly obliged, watching her pet saunter away before deciding to watch the disc. Hopefully it would be something to do with a new case. A new case would be a welcome distraction for the both of them and Sherlock was always happiest when busy.

With that in mind, she put the disc in Sherlock's laptop and started it up.

 **It was eerily quiet when Sherlock made his way into 221B**. The proverbial hairs began to rise on the back of his neck and he was wary as he headed up the stairs to the flat.

Letting himself in, he was arrested by the darkness of his home. Normally he wouldn't mind it, but Molly ought to have been home by this hour and he'd grown accustomed to her presence and need for light.

"Molly?" His eyes roamed about the room, taking in the broken mug and puddle near the desk chair, the partially eaten muffin and his laptop open as though it had been hastily pushed away. There were no signs of stuggle hear, no unknown scents save….

Vomit?

He inhaled again, nose wrinkling at the sickly sweet stench of it. As he followed the smell, his feet led him to his en suite. "Molly? I'm here, answer me if you're able!" He spotted a hastily cleaned up stain on the rug, remnants dried and crusty. Toby meowed from the bathroom, blinking churlishly at his human's mate from his seat curled in the sink. "Where is she? Are you keeping guard?" He gave the animal a pat and slowly opened the shower curtain.

"Molly?"

Curled up in the tub in fetal position, still in her pajamas with his robe added for warmth, lay his pathologist. "Molly? Molly what's happened? Did someone hurt you?" At a loss, but well aware of his own need for quiet and re-grouping when in distress, he climbed in and shifted until she was pressed into his chest, face hidden in his neck.

For a time, they were silent. His shirt grew damp and then it was soaked through with Molly's tears. "Mouse? What happened?" The pet name slipped out before he knew it and sat between them. And his pathologist picked it up, ran with it. "I.. there was a- there was- it was in the package! And- so I thought- I just wanted to help- and there was- he _killed_ her Sherlock!" Colder than the tub beneath them was the ice running up his spine, this game had just gone to an entirely new level.

"Molly… Molly. Mouse!" He gave her a little shake, thankful when it brought his girlfriend back from the brink of hysterics. "I need you to tell me exactly what this pertains to. _Now_ mouse." The firm command was enough to make her focus and red eyes met his own.

"I.. there was a package, the one I texted you about. It seemed innocent enough. I thought it might be a new case or something. Maybe even a tip to the still life murders…" She sniffed, accepting tissues and took a moment to clear her nose. Tissues disposed of, she went on; "Inside was a disk, in a case. I put it in your laptop to watch. It- oh it was awful!" She wailed, hiding her face in his chest again.

Now certain he could glean no more from the pathologist, at least for the moment, he pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text to the inspector.

 _Situation at Baker Street. Come at once._

 _SH_

 **Any ideas what's on that disc? Tune in next time to find out little Darcy's**


	13. Chapter 13:Movie night, stalkers delight

**Hey everyone, sorry for the long wait but as I've stated in a couple other updates, Life is only just beginning to settle back down. Hopefully you all continue reading.**

 **Chapter 13: Movie night,stalker's delight**

Lestrade insisted that the flat be swept for listening devices and fingerprints taken. However, as the killer had been able to avoid them for this long, Sherlock was certain that there would be no trace of DNA left behind. While that was going on, Molly was asked to come down to the station to make a statement. The disk, still on Sherlock's laptop, was brought along for evidence. Lestrade, having been informed of Molly's distress, chose to wait until in his office to view it. Molly, Sherlock and a young officer who was there purely for the record joined him.

"You don't have to be present for this Molly. I can have one of the female officers take a statement-" But Molly was already shaking her head vehemently. "I owe it to her. That girl she.. She deserves justice Greg. I'm going to see that she gets it." Molly answered, speaking for the first time since her outburst to Sherlock in the bathroom. Greg glanced at Sherlock to confirm this, but the younger man's face was void of emotion. It was Molly's choice and he was allowing her to make it, despite any personal distress her fear might be causing him.

Greg read all this in the way the detective's body had folded in on itself, how he'd tucked his legs up under his chin, forefinger tapping impatiently over the vein in his arm. Lestrade suspected this nervous tic spoke to just how heavily the matter was weighing on his mind and he made a mental note to have John keep an eye on their friend.

Still watching the couple, he pulled up the disc on Sherlock's laptop and hit play. Someone was focusing the camera's view so that what appeared to be a bedroom could be clearly seen. A bed, with an iron headboard neatly made, was accompanied by a nightstand and lamp. The floor was barren, it looked to be made of concrete but there was a small bookcase that held a few novels. Lestrade began to take notes when a girl came on camera. She was smiling dreamily, her giggle eerie and unbalanced as her face came into view. She then backed up, small and slouching frame dressed in a white lab coat, peach smock and brown slacks. Her fawn colored hair was pulled back from her face in a low ponytail and she wore little to no makeup. Everything about her, right to nails cut down to the skin was a carbon copy of Molly.

"My name is Molly Hooper. And you're going to die Sherlock." She chirped. Another giggle, the smile not reaching her foggy eyes. Both Sherlock and Lestrade watched with intensity as she sat down on the bed, head now resting on her knees. She and Molly could have been sisters.

Footsteps sounded behind her in the dark, gloved hands stroked the nape of her neck. Despite her happy expression, the young woman shuddered visibly and repeated her message. "My name is Molly Hooper. And you're going to die Sherlock." A ruby scarf, bright against her pale skin, was like blood as it was draped in a loose knot about her throat. "I won't stop. Not until I get what I want. Not so smart now, are you Sherlock? We keep dying and you can't stop me."

Beside them, Molly moaned, covering her eyes as though she could push out the memory of what was about to happen if she pressed hard enough.

"My name is M.. Moll.. Melody Hooper- Hoft! Molly Hoft- Mel- Molly-"

"You stupid _whore_ you did it wrong AGAIN!"

With a scream of rage from behind her, the scarf was suddenly pulled tight. The girl began to flail, blunt nails digging into the fabric and trying to loosen it's deadly hold. She was kicking, twisting, anything she could do to get away but the gloved hands kept on squeezing. Tighter, tighter, while her breath came in hiccups and her body continued to thrash. The glaze had lifted from her eyes, replaced by terror as the inevitability of death dawned on this new victim. With one final burst of energy, one last bit of defiance, she managed to gasp out:

"I'M MELODY!"

And then as suddenly as it had begun, the attack was over with a crack and her body was limp. Gravity rolled the corpse from its precarious position on the bed to a splayed out heap on the floor, her neck hanging at an unnatural angle and the scarf still fluttering gaily about its wearer. The killer was careful to stay out of the frame, footsteps could be heard once more, coming up around the side before the image went to black. Three people in the room were silent, the rookie was emptying the contents of his stomach into Lestrade's waste basket.

"So we have a fifth victim." Greg finally said.

Sherlock, for once, had nothing to say. Molly had begun to cry again.

"I'll.. I'll see what we can find out about the girl. Melody Hoft. See if there's any missing person reports. Sherlock I- I know you want to find this bastard more than anybody but- but he knows where you live, he knows where _Molly_ lives. I think you should see about getting into a safe house, maybe-"

A sharp rap at the door caught him off guard, Sherlock sitting up and Molly hurriedly trying to mop her face up. Without a so much as a "begging your pardon" Mycroft Holmes stroll in, umbrella tucked firmly under his arm and impeccably dressed as always. The sight of his older brother seemed to do Holmes the younger a world of good, as the frozen expression on his face was replaced by a sneer.

"Keeping tabs again are we? I do hope you've something better to do with your time than watching me shower and stuffing your face brother."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, face displaying an equal amount of scorn.

"I _do_ , actually, but seeing as your play has once again dragged you directly into the path of danger, I now have to come down _here_ to clean up your mess brother mine. Not to mention, it would appear a serial killer has fixated on Miss Hooper and we can't have her harmed as she appears to be the only one with the ability to keep you in line."

Sherlock, clearly gearing up for a verbal sparring session was stopped by Molly's hand slapping down on Lestrade's desk. The men in the room, stunned into silence, watched as the trembling pathologist rose. Tears still lay on her cheeks, her face pale and lips bitten bloody.

"Enough. _Both_ of you. Instead of squabbling like children, you ought to be trying to combine your gifts to find out who's doing this. Who's hurting these young women. They have mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and lovers.. Maybe they don't have anyone but a bloody cat. But they're REAL. MELODY is real. She fought till the last second and now we have to keep fighting for her. Stop with the 'my horse is bigger than your horse' and put this monster behind bars before he hurts anybody else because of me. And if you don't, then I will."

Snatching up her purse she hurried out, Sherlock on her heels.

"Molly-"

"No!"

"Molly-"

He caught up with her by the coat room and pulled her inside, hugging her tightly until her shaking subsided. It took him a moment to realize it was not from fear, but from anger.

"He _killed_ her. Because of _us_. Because of _me_. I need to stop him. I need to _do_ something Sherlock, I can't take this anymore!" The relief she felt when he had no protests was almost palpable. Instead, he nodded, kissing her cold little hands and cupping them, blowing with warm breath to ward off the chill.

"I can't abide by you putting yourself in danger. But.. I could use fresh eyes on the crime scenes and bodies. I've spent every waking minute on this case, I promise you but.. But perhaps now we ought to work together. More than just using your knowledge at the morgue. I- I would like very much to make a deal with you Molly." Looking as though it pained him to say it, he peered out the door and then back down at her. "Mycroft has multiple safe houses around the country. If you would agree to be out of harm's way, tucked into one of these places, then you and I will work together to stop this madman."

Molly hesitated, torn. If she were to flee into hiding, how would the killer react? Would it send him into a rage? Or would his efforts be all the more focused on finding her? She was broken out of her musings by Sherlock putting his head on her shoulder, body pressed into her own and heartbeats matching.

"I can't lose you. It would be the ruin of me." He murmured.

That made the choice for her.

"Come with me. Please? We can take the case files to wherever we go. I- I can't lose you either Sherlock. Not again." When he nodded, she let herself breathe once more. As long as they were together, everything would be alright.


	14. Chapter 14: Playing House

**Little Darcy's I've been busy at work on a cosplay and so have had precious little time to write anything. However, it's finished now so hopefully I can work on a few new chapters and get those out for your reading pleasure. Kisses!**

 **Chapter 14: Playing house**

In the middle of the morning, a young couple hailed a cab. They were dressed in their usual outfits for the day, the young man in a finely tailored suit with a belstaff coat and the young lady in a jaunty blouse and slacks combo. When it pulled up to the curb, the man opened the cab door for his companion, then slid in after.

The young woman bore only a purse, while the man appeared to be thoroughly engrossed with his mobile. Each were expected to appear at separate destinations; the man to Scotland Yard and the woman to her shift at the Morgue of St. Bart's.

They would never arrive.

It wasn't long before the still life murderer (as they'd been christened by the tabloids) became aware of this fact. Somehow, Sherlock bloody Holmes had managed to throw yet _another_ wrench into the pot. Now both he and the greatly esteemed Doctor Hooper were god knows where and the SLM was left up a creek without a paddle.

But not for long.

Apparently, the earlier warnings were going unheeded. The idiotic Scotland Yard and that cocky so called consulting detective couldn't see that SLM meant _business._ They couldn't follow simple clues, they were over-confident and now they'd turned Molly to their side. The plan hadn't called for this move quite so soon but..

Drastic times called for drastic measures.

 **Unaware of the spark they'd ignited, Sherlock and Molly were settling into their safe house quite nicely.** Sherlock of course had his laptop, while Molly was going through the crime scene photos and copied reports that Mycroft had managed to get delivered before their arrival.

They'd been mostly quiet since retreating to the little seaside cottage. Sherlock had been in his mind palace the majority of the ride and Molly was trying desperately to view this as nothing more than a short holiday. A holiday with murder on the mind but if she was being honest-

"You've found something?" Sherlock's voice broke through, her miles away smile being replaced by sheepish response. "Sorry, what? Err- no, no I was- no." Fingers steepled, the glare of the laptop shining on his face, her boyfriend looked a bit otherworldly, the thought of Sherlock being some sort of mystical creature letting her mind run away with itself yet again.

"Molly? Where've you gone now Mouse?" Blushing furiously, the tiny pathologist did her best to keep her eyes on the report currently before her. "No where, just a little mind wandering." Sherlock, now thoroughly curious, set aside his own work to examine the woman before him. She looked up, a smile just as nervous as the ones she used to grace him with in the Morgue when they were only colleagues, before they were friends even.

"You can tell me if something weighs on your mind. I- I am not yet fully adept in matters of the heart but John has informed me that merely listening can be just as useful." He offered. Molly sighed, shaking her head at her own foolishness.

"I was- you're going to think me a silly little fool." To her surprise, he physically recoiled at the notion. "Why should I think that? You've only ever proven yourself to be perhaps the smartest person of my acquaintance. I hardly think an off the wall thought will have the power to change my opinion, such as it is." He retorted. She set aside the manilla folder, hands folded in her lap.

"I was just thinking.. I thought if I could pretend we were just on Holiday, with no murder or this having to be a safe house, maybe I wouldn't feel so skittish. But then I thought it would be so like us to solve a murder while on a get-away. I mean.. Sherlock Holmes, going out for ice cream with his girlfriend and we end up running for our lives before busting up a drug ring or something- I'm rambling now aren't I?" Again he surprised her, letting out a deep chuckle, mirth filling his eyes and a smirk settling onto his face.

"Dinner and a decapitation?" He suggested. Molly grinned back. "Movies and mutilation?" Sherlock snickered, plainly enjoying their little game. "Dessert and drowning?" Molly tucked her legs up beneath her, hand resting on her chin in thought. "Bowling and bodies!" Her detective made a face. "Can't stand the game. Absolutely no sense, with a little finesse you've won the game before it's really begun. And there's no sort of release as there are in other games."

She frowned. "I didn't know you didn't like bowling." Sherlock shrugged.

"It would be more in tune with the needs for Holmes the Elder. As little to no exercise is required, that's right up his alley if you'll pardon the pun." Molly laughed, delighted at seeing her playful Sherlock reemerge. "Sherlock Holmes, did you just make a joke?!" He shrugged unapologetically, returning to his laptop. "I'll leave the jokes for Mycroft's doctor when he climbs onto the scale."

Finding he was as relaxed as she'd seen him since the murders began, Molly thought it couldn't hurt now to get a bit of information on the family dynamics. After all, it was becoming increasingly apparent Mycroft cared a great deal for his baby brother, despite Sherlock spurning him at every opportunity. "Why are you so mean to him Sherlock? He's your big brother." The detective snorted, eyes on his screen. "Molly, blood doesn't immediately foster affection. All it really does is provide me with a resource should my medical situation require it." He replied, as cold as he'd ever been. No, not cold. Just…

Uncaring.

"Yeah but- I don't know him very well but I'm sure he loves you. We all do. Me and John and Mary and Greg and Mrs. Hudson-" He waved his hand dismissively. "Yes I'm sure you do but that's beside the point." Frowning, Molly made her way over and perched on the desk. "No, it really isn't. What are you afraid of?"

When Sherlock put up a wall, it was immediate and almost palpable. He did so now, trying to turn away, to ignore this young woman who could read him as easily as she did a medical report. "We need to refocus our attentions. You should be looking for-"

"Sherlock."

Oh how he hated that. That gentle chiding, the open gaze and unjudging stance. Everything about Molly in these moments was caring, was understanding. She saw him, each and everytime.

"We've had quite a lot of firsts, you and I." He murmured, letting her take his hand. She intertwined their fingers, smoothing his hair. "Am I aware of all of them?" She teased with a kind smile. His lips quirked. "Would you like to hear about our first dance?" Molly's answer was to move herself squarely into his lap, settling back into his arms and then looking up at him expectantly.

 _\- 4 months earlier -_

"Did you receive the package?"  
"Yes but Sherlock I don't-"

"And you're free this Saturday?"

"Yes but-"

"Excellent. I'll pick you up at 8."

Pleased with himself, he hung up and immediately went to confirm reservations. The case, a high 7 by his estimates, that had been eluding him for a roughly a month was about to be closed. Sherlock had managed to infiltrate a ring of Ivory traders, men who'd formerly been interested only in profit and now were considering human cargo as well. Asked by the british government to find out who was the go between for the countries involved, he now had almost all the damning evidence required to put the would be human traffickers away for a very long time.

Before that could happen though, there was this party to get through. Robert Constantine, "Bobby" to his friends, would expect Sherlock to be there and he was expecting a beautiful but oblivious wife on his arm. Naturally, while they had yet to discuss marriage, Sherlock assumed his significant other would have no problem with going undercover as his wife. He RSVP'D and then made final preparations.

On the night in question, Sherlock was surprised to find himself anxious about Molly's participation. While he had no doubt as to Molly's full capability to pull the farce off, he also recognized the high possibility of danger and was loathe to put her in harm's way. Briefly, he wondered when he'd become so sentimental concerning his pathologist but chose to leave that question for consideration at a later time. In the meantime, he readied himself and had the car pull up out front. In a short time, he was headed towards Molly's flat and then directly outside the building. He sent a quick text and waited, stunned into silence by her appearance.

He had been loathe to dress her in one of the garishly bright colors she was so fond of, and so had sent along an A-line evening gown, made of chiffon in blush pink. As the door was opened by the driver and Molly slid in beside him, his mind shorted. Deductions trickled in like molasses, noting her scent (peach- no, apricot), the touch of gloss that wasn't the least bit sticky, how the dress floated around her and showed off her gentle curves in the very best way. Molly had even taken time to do her makeup (or perhaps it had been her friend Mina, Molly never had a steady hand when it came to the application of cosmetics) and done her hair,with a gentle twist into a loose bun.

"I hope I'm not late, I tried to hurry but my curler wouldn't heat and- Sherlock? What's wrong? You're looking at me strangely." She smiled nervously, face reddening when he finally said "You look like an angel Molly Hooper."

 **It seemed, for all his mental prowess and deduction, Molly could still reduce Sherlock to a stammering and fanciful school boy.** Coughing to cover his embarrassment, he pushed forward the dossier with details outlining tonight's plan. Already familiar with the case and Sherlock's progress, she was only visibly surprised when he explained her role.

"I'm.. you want me to be your wife? For the case! The case, for that uh.. Tonight. I mean. Your wife tonight." She stammeringly confirmed. His brow furrowed. "Yes. You find it.. distasteful?" Inwardly she groaned, wondering how much more of a mess she could make of things. Of course he would be upset, she mucked up her words so. "No! No of course not, I'm honored you would think of me." He shrugged. "You were the obvious choice, given our status." Now Molly was _really_ confused, but beamed when she realized what he meant. Sherlock Holmes, not given to displays or voicing of affection, had just confirmed that he did in fact consider her a friend. A confidant even, someone he could trust. " I just- I don't want to mess up, that's all."

His eyes were kind when he took her hand in an uncharacteristically sweet gesture of reassurance. "You won't, I have every confidence in you. Now then, we are Will and Elaine Doyle. We've been married some ten years, so overly indulgent affection isn't necessary. No children but a happy enough union. I'm somewhat possessive of you, which will explain why I keep you close at all times. I'd rather we weren't separated, it's very possible these men will take hostages if there's even the slightest hint of a slip up." Fishing a box from his pocket, he smoothed the tie that matched Molly's gown and opened it.

Her breath caught, inside it was a vintage, rose gold engagement ring. The band was in the shape of a circular vine, studded with tiny diamonds. The "flower" in the middle was a 14 carat, surrounded by petals. "You'll need a wedding ring of course." He explained, slipping it on the ring finger of her left hand. "It's.. my goodness it's beautiful. Sherlock I can't-" He kissed her temple, silencing the stunned young woman. "You needn't worry. It's rather old and in your size so it should stay put. And here we are." He left by way of his door, stopping to open her own for her and offering his arm.

"Shall we Mrs. Doyle?"

Finally tearing her gaze away from what surely was a vintage ring, if not family heirloom, Molly took her place by his side and smiled up at him.

"We shall Mr. Doyle."

 **The evening was a memorable one, for various reasons.** As expected, the traffickers fell for Sherlock's plan, hook line and sinker. He spent the majority of the evening making small talk, eating h'orderves and dancing with Molly. Her nerves had made it such that she suddenly was moving two left feet, but Sherlock found he rather liked her continually falling against him.

Enough so that when they were interrupted by a swat team storming the place, his ire burned hotly against those who dare be so brusque during the date night he turned this into for he and his pathologist.

Still, Molly was chattering away from excitement over the night's events, from her boldly taking a seat in his lap at one point, to cleverly stumbling upon a door hidden in the powder room. While Sherlock and the agents disposed of the men, she was wrapping up the wounds of a girl who'd fallen prey to the ring. He was incredibly proud of her, and praised her calm assessment of the situation.

As they pulled up to her building, she yawned widely. "I could use a good cup of tea after tonight.. Would you like one?" She was inviting him up? An interesting turn of events…

"You are my husband after all. You can even sleep on the couch afterwards." She giggled. Molly was just a little tipsy and Sherlock was more than a little tired.

He followed her inside.

Barefoot and tea brewing, Molly swayed to the soft classical playing on the radio. Sherlock was at the table, shooting off texts to Lestrade and Mycroft informing them of the evening's events. Molly had taken her hair down and sashayed past the detective.

"I didn't hurt your feet did I?" She asked. He glanced at her, returning to his phone.

"Not at 're rather light, I hardly felt it." Molly pulled down mugs and opened a box of tim tam biscuits, offering them to Sherlock. He took one, then another, followed by three more while Molly looked on in amusement. The detective did not often indulge in sweet treats but when he did, look out.

"I'm sure I stepped on your toes though. I'm usually much better, I'm sorry." Sherlock stood, still chewing and took her into his arms. "What-" He waltzed them around,swallowed and then explained, "You'll feel better if we try again. See? Now toes have been harmed in the moving of this dance." She laughed, then her eyes widened.

"Sherlock you made a joke!" He sighed. "I _am_ quite humourous, should the need arise Molly. I had hoped you would realize that by now." She let him twirl her outwards, smiling up at her partner when he brought her back in close. "Thank you for tonight Sherlock. It's been a lot of fun. Do.. do you have any other cases that may require dancing?" They swayed to the soft music, one arm about her waist and a hand clasped over his heart.

"Will they always end like this?"

"Um.. well I rather like tim tams so it can if- if you want."

"There'll be other cases."


	15. Chapter 15: Concussed

**Things are going to be coming to a head Little Darcy's. Chime in with a review: Following this fic should there be one about their relationship and Sherlock being "romantic" in his classic high-functioning sociopathic way?**

 **Chapter 15: Concussed**

Much of the rest of their day was spent doing two pastimes:

-Going over the still life murders

-Going over the various moments Sherlock mistakenly believed their "romance" was progressing

As it stood, Sherlock had actually been very thoughtful, looking back. Had she known, Molly would have been truly touched and said as much now.

"I'm pleased to hear my efforts would have borne better fruit had you been in the knowledge of receiving them. Of course, I was working under the assumption that you were merely shy in accepting my attentions." He murmured, researching varying brands of cigarette buds and the ash they produced. She kissed his cheek, smoothing his hair lovingly.

"I'm sorry I didn't know Sherlock. You make me so happy. And you really were very kind."

He smirked at his screen, causing a bout of laughter to spill from her lips.

"Smug prat. I'm going to get supper, anything you're fancying?" She asked, slipping her sweater on. He made a noncommittal noise, waving her off with one hand. Used to his fixations when working a case, she grabbed her purse and left for the shop.

 **Humming to herself while she walked, Molly took a few moments to appreciate the scenery.** It really was lovely here, with the lapping of the waves on the shore, the smell of sea salt in the air, a breeze blowing. She thought perhaps once all these murders had been solved, she might try and persuade Sherlock to come back here for a little holiday of their own.

Oh he'd be bored out of his mind without a case to occupy his thoughts, but she thought perhaps they might collect specimens and conduct their own study on the sea life in the area. Maybe collect samples for further analysis when they returned home. Molly caught sight of an empty storefront available for rent and giggled at the idea of opening a little spot with Sherlock Holmes. A proper office for the world's only consulting detective with loads of technology at his fingertips and a morgue for her in the back.. She walked on, still grinning and coming up with further fanciful schemes.

Surely he wouldn't mind that. Even better, they could go exploring and get lost together for a day. No doubt Sherlock would find some sort of oddity or thing of note to make it even more memorable, as he so often did.

Already making mental plans and wanting to further cheer herself up, Molly decided take away would be good and that maybe she'd get a pizza for their evening meal. Sherlock was more likely to eat if it only required one hand anyway and she didn't like how thin he'd grown as the case continued to progress with no end in sight. The carbs and hot meal combined would be good for him.

Decision made and still amusing herself with thoughts of a proper vacation, she pulled out her little map of the town and buried her nose in it, following a path to the nearest italian restaurant. Approaching it, the air turned away from brine and more towards garlic, olive oil and tomato sauce.

Molly inhaled appreciatively, mouth already beginning to water. What sort of pie should she get? Ooh Pie.. did Sherlock like pie? She should probably find out-

That was her last thought before she was struck from behind.

 **Having been hard at work sorting through the clues to the still life murders, Sherlock had adjourned into his mind palace minutes after Molly left.**

There was something he was missing, he knew it. There was always something but the stakes were equally as important. He couldn't afford to lose this game, it could mean Molly's life.

And so, slowly, methodically, he reviewed the evidence:

-The culprit had studied their victims, knew their schedules and how best to win their affection. Whatever had gone on between the women and their killer, they'd felt safe enough to invite him in each time. The one they were looking for had to be a man, all victims were heterosexual and had been both strangled and posed. Something that would take considerable strength, having to move dead weight about.

The culprit was also intimately familiar with their fixation, that being Molly. Studied everything about her, from the exact shade of her hair to the music the pathologist frequently played during post mortems. Why Molly?

The women in question were quiet, unassuming. They never would have been brash enough to openly flirt with the killer but all were expecting to commence the relationship with sexual relations. He'd had to be attractive without seeming too handsome so as to avoid unwanted attention. Besides this, the killer would want to avoid being memorable, as that would make it harder for him to be identified.

The war of emotions was made evident by the murderer's actions. To strangle his victim was a very personal, hands on gesture. The intimacy would have been far less had he simply chosen to shoot each victim. Instead, each woman was killed with the force of his own brute strength.

Despite this apparent rage towards each victim, the after effects of killing each woman showed remorse, love even. The murders themselves were done with silk, a classically sensual fabric. Great care was taken after to position them, to handle the bodies. So when the rage left, love and concern took it's place.

Conclusion: The killer both loved and hated Molly. Eventually, one was bound to win out over the other.

He emerged from his mind palace, what felt like seconds but what was probably hours later. It was no longer light out, the house shrouded in darkness. He took a moment to stretch and observe his surroundings, wondering what time it was. Had Molly gone to bed already? He was feeling a bit peckish, perhaps she wouldn't be averse to joining him for a midnight snack.

Walking soft-footed, he made his way to the bedroom, careful not to let the door creak in the instance that she was sleeping. He needn't have bothered, as the bed was neatly made and contained no Molly. A check in the washroom offered no information either, it was as empty as the bedroom had been.

Genuinely confused as to where she might have gone, he checked the kitchen for any notes she may have left behind, as was her custom when going out while he was in his mind palace. The usual consideration she gave was nowhere to be found, another oddity.

Sherlock Holmes wasn't one prone to worry, more often than nought he couldn't be bothered to care that much about a person or what was thought of him. But Molly was different and the punch of adrenaline moved him to run to where her purse was last left, by the front door.

It was gone. So was her favorite sweater, shoes and keys.

A glance at the clock told him it was almost half past 7, checking his phone only increased his worry. Molly had left no voicemails, no messages. Nothing.

She had simply vanished.

Molly had a splitting headache, bad enough that she scarcely dared open her eyes. Slowly she moved each limb, one at a time. They all seemed to be functional enough. She felt around her scalp, wincing when her fingers brushed over a lump the size of a baseball. The pads of her fingertips came away sticky, she could smell something metallic and warm… blood. She was bleeding from a head injury.

Thinking hurt and instincts took over. She needed to assess her situation and find a solution. Head wounds always bled but it was likely she had a level three concussion if she'd lost consciousness. Judging by the waves of nausea that were riding her and the way the room spun when she tried to stand up, Molly decided her initial assumption was correct.

Next thing was in order, she could move so she wasn't paralysed but what had happened to her? She was walking.. She was walking and then something hit her in the back of the head, which led to the concussion… god what she wouldn't give for a couple of paracetamol.

Rising slowly, slowly, slowly, she waited for the room to be still once again before trying to stand. The attempt made her stomach roll but she managed to stay upright. After waiting another few seconds, she looked around, trying to place where she was.

It wasn't a hospital, that was for sure. Instead, it looked a great deal like- No. Strike that. It was an

 _Exact_ replica of her bedroom, down to the last detail. From the position of the dresser to the scuff in the floor by the closet, it was home.

Except for the fact that it wasn't. And, oh yeah, the paintings had all been replaced by large blown up photos of her.

Molly sleeping. Molly working. Molly dressing for one of her dates with Sherlock-

Sherlock! She had been with Sherlock, and now she was here in this place. Had the killer found her? Who else would have a motive to harm her? She had to get to a phone, to a computer, _something_. If the killer had found her, then so could Sherlock and Scotland Yard, she knew it.

Taking one unsteady step after another, she availed herself of the basin left on the nightstand to be sick, knowing that it was a sign her injury was serious and she was going to require medical attention. With that in mind and clinging to the hope that Sherlock was already on to her trail, Molly froze when she heard muffled voices arguing with one another. Then there was the sound of glass being smashed, followed by gunfire.

"You immense IDIOT, I said to nab her, not nearly kill her! Do you know what you've done?!" A male voice screeched. Another voice was rising up, already beginning to make terrorfied protests before more gunfire and then just the one voice.

"I suppose the old saying is true. Don't get someone to do what you can do for yourself."

She knew that voice.

Her door opened easily and there he was below her in the living room, another man lying dead at his feet surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Tom looked up and smiled, relief all over his face.

"Oh good you're up. Don't worry love, I'll make sure to get this cleaned up before it stains the wood in the floors."


	16. Chapter 16: Doll House

**Dunno if this is the last update of the year but if it is, be safe little Darcy's and see you next time!**

 **Chapter 16: Dollhouse**

To be beneath the full scrutiny of Sherlock Holmes was to understand a specimen under a microscope. Upon his discovery that Molly was, in fact, missing, he sent off several texts all at once.

The first was to John Watson, Vatican cameos and his exact location. He ignored the responses sent, no doubt John was full of questions that would only slow Sherlock down right now. The next was to Gandalf Lestrade, informing him of Molly's disappearance and again, their location. This time, he stopped to let him know approximately the last time he'd seen Molly and thus how many hours she'd been missing. The third was sent to a contact who would get word to his homeless network.

The fourth was sent to his brother.

These things done, Sherlock was on the move. He vaguely recalled Molly mentioning purchasing items for their dinner and as there were only so many places to either purchase food or eat out, he was quick to pinpoint the locations she may have been last seen at. With long legged strides and no patience, he was just coming out of the third shop when his phone rang, it was Mycroft.

"You've lost Miss Hooper then have you?" Was the first words out of his older brother's mouth. In no mood for a verbal jousting, he simply replied, "She went out around 1. She's been gone for nearly six hours now with no communication. Did any of your watchdogs see suspicious activity in the area?" Had he been of a mind to care, the smugness began to leak out of Holmes the Elder's tone.

"You asked for none while in the safehouse, I complied." Was the careful answer. Just then, Gary Lestrade appeared on his screen. He connected the two, not bothering with niceties, instead saying "Lestrade my brother has information which may be of use to us." To his credit, the inspector didn't ask questions, instead he prodded him to continue.

"You've never complied with anyone a day in your life and if you had it was for your own benefit. A means to an end. Molly is not a means to an end so tell me what you know Mycroft."

A sigh, more weary than heavy which meant his brother was about to tell him something Sherlock was not going to like.

"They tailed a man who'd made a point of following Miss Hooper into the grocer's. They came out, Miss Hooper first and then the man. Both were carrying small bags, the man went to a vehicle and drove away. Miss Hooper continued on, towards a local italian restaurant in the area. There is a back alley, to the side of this eatery. A car passed by, between my men and Miss Hooper and when it had gone Miss Hooper was no longer in vantage point. Another vehicle was quick to leave the area, they tailed it but lost it to traffic heading back into the city. Now brother mine, I recognize Miss Hooper matters a great deal to you but-"

"Send me any photos and the license plates of both cars."

"Sherlock you need to-"

Sherlock hung up before he could complete the sentence, keeping Lestrade on the line and headed straight to the site in question.

"I'll get my people on the trail straight away-"

"Don't bother, Mycroft's men are idiots. We need to follow the man from the grocery store."

"But he-"

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Sherlock made a noise of disgust and scanned the ground, looking for any clues left behind.

"He never left the area. He drove away, calm and sedate and even purchased something to make it all appear normal. His car was the one that passed by, the second vehicle was only a diversion while our killer circled back around and picked up Molly. We need a description of him and the car he was driving when they first saw him. If they got a license plate it'll be a miracle the way they're puny minds work. I'll pass along the information he sends me, meanwhile begin your search in the surrounding towns. He won't have gone back to the city, that's where he'd assume we'd be looking right now."

He hung up on Lestrade with the same suddenness he had his brother, bagging a bit of ash left behind by a cigarette butt just outside the alley. A quick inhale told him what he'd already suspected. Molly's kidnapper and the Still life murderer were one and the same.

 **There had been an instance, once, when Molly joked about no longer dating sociopaths.** Now though, as she stared down at the man she was at one time going to spend her life with, who appeared blissfully unaware of the corpse lying in front of him, waiting for her self described high-functioning sociopath boyfriend to find her, Molly was beginning to suspect she'd have to rethink that statement.

"Oh! You're bleeding again, let's get you fixed up hmm? Like I said, don't worry in the least about the floor, I'll see to it sweetheart."

Still stunned, she accepted the hand he offered and followed him to an impressive sit in kitchen, complete with breakfast bar and nook. The exact sort of kitchen she'd dreamed of while they were house hunting during their engagement.

A bright red kettle was just beginning to whistle, Tom took it off the heat and steeped two mugs of tea before turning his attention back to Molly.

"I've got the first aid kit right here, under the sink. Finally put it back in one place like you always are telling me." He joked, sitting her at the breakfast bar.

"You- he's dead. You killed him. That man is dead Tom, you _killed_ him!" Molly exclaimed, pulling out of reach. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her firmly in one place while he checked her head injury. She didn't remember him being nearly as strong when they were dating.

"I've been working out." He explained, reading her expression. Gently he cleaned away the blood still caked over the wound and set to bandaging her head.

"Tom you're a bloody MURDERER."

"So's your high and mighty detective but you don't seem to have a problem with that. Not to mention, he's nothing but a coke snorting, unfeeling, smart aleck phoney of a drug addict. I don't take drugs." He reminded her. At the mention of Sherlock, her worry only increased.

"Tom, did you do something to him?" He ignored her, continuing to work on patching her up. Fear made her sick, the probing of her wound only making things worse. She pushed away his hand, forcing him to look at her and forcing herself to breathe evenly.

"Tom. What have you done?"

He stepped away, creating a bit of saline solution to flush out the gash. "I've done what no one else has done Molly. I stumped him. Even the oh so wonderful Sherlock Holmes hasn't been able to solve my puzzles. And he brought me straight to you. Don't you see?"

He turned, that same proud and serene smile on his features, as normally as if he were discussing going to lunch or purchasing her favorite flowers. He cupped her cheek tenderly, placing a light kiss on her lips that made her want to vomit.

"I'm _smarter_ than he is Molls. I'm better then he is, he pretends to be all dashing and brave but really he's just like everybody else. I had the nerve,the _strength_ to do what was needed."

Full out beaming now, he resumed tending to her wound.

"Don't worry, I never slept with those other women. I was faithful to you Molls, the whole time I promise I was faithful. Now we can go on as planned. I've got the house all set as you can see. We've gotten far enough away from Mr. consulting defective that he's got no idea where we are. We'll find you a dress and there's a little church nearby, you remember my job pays well. We'll get you anything you want, I've already made sure to get you clothes and everything." He helped her stand, then escorted her to the couch.

"Tom, I don't-"

He gave her another kiss and this time she did push him away.

"Tom, stop. This is wrong, you killed all those young women-"

The rage so clearly shown on the video of the last murder became apparent now when he sent the coffee table flying, throwing it almost clear across the room.

"I did it for _you_ , why don't you understand that?! Ungrateful-" He moved to strike her, freezing when she recoiled and rushing to take her into his arms instead.

"I'm so sorry darling, you've had a long day. Of course you're going to be moody. Come on now, let's get you to bed and I'll bring you some hot broth, it'll help bring your strength back." Without allowing her to protest he scooped her up, carrying her back up to bed and back to her prison.


	17. Chapter 17: Make believe

**I've been working on my manuscript and book pitch for some time, which is why there's no recent updates. Thank you for sticking with me, I'm sorry to be taking so long but I really think this could be good**

 **Chapter 17: Make believe**

Head wounds were never something to be underestimated. As it was, the concussion Molly had was worse than even she had first believed. Tom was the perfect mother hen, worried and fussing over her near constantly. As weak as she was, it was understandable that Molly's thoughts would be fluid, her concentration fleeting.

When she was sans headache, her focus was on escape. Sherlock would find her, of that she was certain. The question was, would she still be alive? While the thought of what Tom might do to her was frightening, the idea that Sherlock would be left alone was far worse. Molly could only imagine what sort of reaction he would have to her demise and _that_ was unacceptable.

With these thoughts bolstering her courage, Molly began to scheme.

 **For starters, Tom was consistent.** Ol' reliable as she used to jokingly refer to him. Her meals, her medicine, the small bit of telly time she was allowed, all ran like clockwork. He dressed her with tender concern, tended to the gash beneath her hair, ran through a concussion checklist...

"One he no doubt downloaded off the internet. Meat dagger is remarkably without imagination, honestly, what ever did you see in him Molly?"

She nearly got whiplash her head snapped up from the pillows so fast. There, in the corner of the bedroom, was Sherlock Holmes himself.

"Sherlock! How- you found me, you're alright!"

The detective openly scoffed, removing his belstaff and laying it aside. The purple shirt she loved so well was open at the throat, his hair was fashionably tousled and he lay on his back on the dresser, fingers steepled in thought. How he'd managed to fit the length of his body on this particular item of furniture was a mystery she didn't foresee solving anytime soon.

"Don't be stupid, of course I'm alright. But I'm not here in the flesh Molly, I'm merely a hallucination. A side effect of your concussion, no doubt. You're unwell Molly Hooper, you must escape while there's still time."

Slowly she pushed herself up, thankful for the effect of the painkillers and listening for any signs of Tom. When she heard none, Molly turned her attention back to the detective.

"How can I? I can hardly walk on my own, I don't know where I am-"

"Than both of those will need to be resolved, won't they?"

"Sherlock.. I'm afraid."

She blinked and there he was, settled on corner of the bed beside her.

"Molly, if anyone can save themselves, it's you. You've dated far worse than meat dagger but he's gone round the bend. His love for you will only outweigh his humiliation for so long."

Recognizing she was hugging herself did little to comfort Molly and so she chose instead to ignore that little fact and snuggle into the man's embrace.

"Can I use that somehow?"

His chin rested on her head, his breathing a calming backdrop to her own.

"You'll need to manipulate him with that obsession for as long as possible."

"Right.. Right. I can do that. He keeps fussing over me, I think he _likes_ having me injured." She gave this consideration as he took up perch on the dresser once more.

"No doubt. I suggest you start immediately."

Following this line of thinking, Molly fought down the bile threatening to rise in her throat and slowly made her way downstairs. Tom was just readying himself to go out, buttoning his own belstaff as she inched into the front hall. A creak in one of the floorboards alerted him to her entrance, his alarm evident as he rushed over.

"Molls what are you doing out of bed, you're lucky vertigo didn't hit you while you were on the stairs!" His countenance darkened, his grip tightening on her.

"I _told_ you to rest, do you _like_ being sick?" He hissed, a viper who's rattle was beginning to shake menacingly. Behind him, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Dull. Play him like a concerto mouse."

"I..I was lonesome, I had a nightmare of that man hitting me- I'm sorry Tom. I didn't want to be alone." She whimpered. He fell for it, hook line and sinker.

"Of course you didn't sweetheart, that brute probably traumatized you didn't he? I'm here Molls, you're safe now." Molly seriously doubted that, but force herself to curl into his body,letting him rub slow circles on her back.

"I know, it was all just so real. My head hurt and I couldn't move-" She allowed a few of the tears she'd been holding back to escape now, trickling down her nose which only served to further his determination.

"I've killed him love. There's even a bit of bloodstain I'm still scrubbing out. Once I get rid of Sherlock Holmes, no one will ever be able to split us up again. But you really do need rest now, come on over to the sofa. You can watch a little crap telly while I'm gone." He encourages, guiding her to the couch in question. Mental Sherlock took a seat beside her.

"What do I do now?" She asked him. Tom mistook it for conversation and tucked an afghan around her more securely.

"Just relax. I won't be long and I'll bring back some takeaway for us." He promised. Mental Sherlock was already tucking his knees under him,settling in for the time being.

"What's he going to do before that?" Sherlock mumbled. Molly scrambled to catch a hold of Tom's sleeve.

"You- do you have to go? Is.. is it work or something?" She asked. Tom beamed and kissed her lightly. "It's a surprise. But like I said, I won't be gone long, I promise." Gently untangling his jacket from her grip, he moved for the door again.

"Could- could we have chips? They sound nice, I think chips sound very nice don't you?" She rambled on. Sherlock groaned, muttering about how obvious she was being but the pathologist ignored him.

"Sorry, I don't think there's a place around here. But I'm headed into the city, I might be able to scrounge up something. Back in two shakes!" With another cheerful wave, he was gone.

"I told you he was an idiot, just post a giant sign saying nondescript country house why don't you?" Sherlock griped. "Hush, I'm trying to think." Ignoring the ever worsening pounding in her head, Molly did her best to piece together what she knew.

"He said he was going into the city.. Tom only ever referred to London as the city…." Sherlock sighed heavily from his couch perch.

"The chance of someone recognizing you is far greater with the increased population density. _This_ place though-"

Molly's thoughts were nearly too quick to follow, but the words tumbled out before Sherlock could finish.

"This place is quiet, this place looks exactly like the home we were going to buy!"

Her mental detective smirked, unsettling in his similarity to the real thing.

"Quiet. A replica of your home to be. Away from the city…"

"We must be near that neighborhood, a fresh development maybe? Tom had purchased the house… we quarreled because it was so far from my work, couldn't even find a decent chip shop…. He keeps going on about being together. Picking up where we left off… I think maybe if I can pretend long enough- the cellar!"

Swaying, Molly allowed the room to slow a bit but hurried on to where she knew the cellar door was. Sherlock reappeared in the kitchen,sitting on the table this time.

"He's stupid but surely-"

"Bloody hell he's got it locked, help me find something to pick this with." She snarled, going to the drawers. Sherlock watched passively as she came up with something, face propped up in his hands.

"It's no use Molly."

"If this is the same home layout then there's a landline in the cellar, just in case of a storm. I _have_ to get to it!" She protested, tears pricking her eyes. She was _so_ close, if only she could get down there, she could call for help. Sherlock watched with pity but did not go to her now.

"You'll need to find the key and- quickly Molly, he's coming back, the front door, go!"

Heeding the hallucinations warning, she bolted for the living room and just barely made it to the couch, the mad dash forcing her to empty her stomach contents in the bucket set nearby specifically for that use.

"Forgot my wallet- Molly! You poor… come on sweetheart, I never should have let you up. Come on." He held her hair back while she was sick, then helped her to the loo to rinse her mouth before they went back to the couch.

"Forget the telly, just have a nice nap now. I'll get something good and bland for supper, nothing too rich for your stomach. Just sleep now." A damp cloth was put to her forehead, the blanket tucked in and then she was drifting, plans of escape still swirling and Sherlock's worried gaze staring down at her as she fell asleep.

 **While Molly dreamt of Sherlock, the young man was on a warpath.** His pathologist had been missing for exactly 73 hours, 22 minutes and 15 seconds. With each passing moment, he sank deeper into oblivion towards the outside world. Lestrade's men were working overtime, Mike Stamford had called various staff meetings and even Mycroft had men on the lookout.

Despite all this, despite the mutual fear and attempts to cling to hope, Sherlock would have none of it. When others tried to console him, his dressing down was swift and cruel. Mrs. Hudson was beside herself with worry, and frequently left the flat in near tears. The consulting detective hadn't eaten, he didn't sleep, his clothes remained the same as he'd been wearing the day Molly had disappeared.

He spoke little unless it pertained to the case, a tread in the carpet was left behind where he'd paced day in and day out.

In short, if Molly Hooper was not soon found the Still Life Murderer would be claiming two more victims.


	18. Chapter 18: Out of line, hidden away

**Nasty writers block on my other fics, stick with me guys**

 **Chapter 17: Outbursts? What I miss?**

It was some time in the 17th hour of violin playing, on the fourth day, that John Watson had finally had enough.

He rose from his chair, jaw set and voice low, in no mood for his friends dramatics. Sherlock paid him no mind, continuing to play even when the former army doctor stood directly in front of him.

"Alright then. I've given you time and space and understanding. You've got all of us little puppets dancing and waiting to see you pull it off. So. Come on then. Where is she?" He growled. Sherlock's response was to continue playing.

"Sherlock.. _Sherlock._ " He tried again, patience wearing thin and largely ignoring Mary's appearance at his side. "John, don't-" He waved off her low pleas, stepping forward until he was practically nose to nose with the detective.

"Where. Is. She?"

The Stradivarius continued to play, it's melancholy tune picking up it's pace.

"John, I really think-"

"How is this helping Molly? What was she, another distraction? Or were you using her as bait?"

One note out of tune before Sherlock's bow resumed flying. Dangerous territory, but John was too lost in his distress to care. Properly angry now, he fought down the urge to reach out and rip the instrument from the other man's hands.

"Of all the people to drag into your little games- what did Molly Hooper ever do to you?! How could she possibly have raised your ire enough- no, that's not even true! You're _bored_. You were _bored_ and you used our _friend_ to resolve that. Do you even know the meaning of the word, can you comprehend the definition?"

Another note screeching to a halt, Mary physically yanking her husband back in an attempt to save him from himself. "John, this is NOT helping, stop before you say something you don't mean." She ordered.

Any other time, he would have listened. He usually did. But this was Molly Hooper. One of the sweetest people this city had ever seen. And while he'd hoped she was different, deep down, he did not believe his best friend was capable of falling in love.

However, he _knew_ Sherlock would have no issue with using the ones he cared about to work out a particularly trying mystery. In an ironic twist, he actually trusted them to 'do their part' thus being an effective tool during cases.

Molly wasn't some tool. She'd been there to save Sherlock's life. She was godmother to his daughter,she was practically his sister. Molly was family.

"Sherlock just answer me damn you!" He was shouting now,past caring for the feelings he may hurt or putting on a brave face for Mrs. Hudson, who'd shown up when things began to grow loud. He was worried for Molly, afraid for what this would do to Sherlock and sick of violin music.

The Stradivarius was in a fever pitch, a blur of movement, the guests of 221B were surprised there was no smoke coming off the bow. He could take it no longer.

"You _robot_ do emotions even compute for you or was claiming to love Molly just the computer running a schematic?!"

The last note stopped mid play, a horrific high pitched stretch that might have snapped the strings in two.

"Get out."

He might have missed it, the command was given so quietly. As it was, with his outburst done, John was already beginning to realize just how far past the line his comments had been.

"Sherlock I- I was just frustrated, I didn't mean-"

"Get. Out."

The words could not be unsaid. His worry was justifiable, his cruel speech was not. The last time they had fought like this, Sherlock ended up dead. John took a step towards the other man, reaching out, mind going at a hundred miles a minute.

"Sherlock I'm sorry, I-"

"I SAID GET OUT!"

It was only his honed military instincts that let John avoid being struck by a flying violin case. Mary was at his side in an instant, angry though she may be, ready to protect her husband. Mrs. Hudson was tearfully admonishing him, even as a book was hurled in her general direction before making her escape.

And Watson? John could only stare in horror, at the broken and terrified shadow of the man he used to know. Their eyes met and the retired army doctor had the strangest feeling he was meeting the detective for the first time.

Before him stood not Sherlock Holmes,world's only consulting detective, genius, smug prat of a best friend. No. Here was just a man, desperately using every resource at his disposal to be good enough one last time.

 _This one's different-_

 _He's sending a message to me John.._

 _Have you been trying to court Molly Hooper?_

 _I think Sherlock's afraid John.._

 _It would appear she was unaware of our relationship-_

 _You robot…_

 _Sherlock's afraid John-_

 _I asked her for dinner and experiments!_

 _Sherlock's afraid-_

"Please. Just go."

Sherlock was tired, worn out and the fate of his beloved on his shoulders. Mary's hand pressed warm in his own, before the former assassin went to their friend's side and wrapped him in a tight hug. His body was stiff, it softened, and then he sagged against her, for the briefest of seconds before the mask went back in place.

He turned his back to the pair, the violin playing resumed and John left him to his thoughts.

 **Deep in his thoughts, even his mind palace could not form properly without the missing Molly Hooper.** Instead of facts, of logic, he felt little more than a rising panic in his chest. He missed something, he always did and he was sure that something was the clue that would lead him straight to his pathologist.

After another solid hour of violin playing, Sherlock's fingers were bleeding too much to continue. He stared in disgust at the sticky fluid coating his instruments strings, he would have to have it cleaned and tuned before he could play it again. Setting it aside, he went to wash his hands and relished in the pain it brought. It sharpened his mind, brought new clarity. Kept him from doing something Molly would disapprove of.

Gingerly, he tried to pick up his music once more, hissing when even that small action caused discomfort. Molly had always seemed to consider him some sort of superhuman, it was almost a pity she couldn't see him now.

 _Still a step up from meat dagger I should imagine._

He snickered, the slam on her former fiance brought him an odd sense of satisfaction. He supposed it was an instance of genetics, the alpha male of his ancestors past coloring his behavior now.

No matter, as it turned out meat dagger was the jealous type anyhow. Always after Molly about why things had ended, having the audacity to accuse her at the ballet-

The ballet.

Meat dagger had been _late,_ to the _Ballet._

The same night another of the still life's had been found.

He had been late, his gloves.. gah! What about his gloves?!

Willing himself to sink deep within, Sherlock strode to the room reserved strictly for this case in his mind palace. The events of that night had created a small hallway between the case and mental Molly's room. He flipped through the evening, searching for the moment he'd come upon the pair. When he found him, he stood mental meat dagger up straight and took it all in once more.

 _Tag still on the inside of the glove No wear on either hand, new_

 _Wisp of smoke on his clothes - fingers pale, unstained - the gloves were being pulled on_

 _Casual smoker Heels worn deeper than the toe, he leaned back and struggled-_

 _He smiled._

That's what had been bothering Sherlock. Not the altercation itself, or even the possible ill effects Molly might have suffered. He'd struck the man, and for the briefest of seconds, Tom had _smiled. Like it was all just a game and he couldn't have hoped for a better turn out._

That's what he had missed.

Right there, the entire time.

 _Tom was the still life killer._


	19. Chapter 19:Put it to practice

**In case anyone is wondering why the sudden influx of chapters, I happen to be having a little competition with a friend of mine, concerning who can have more published word count in one week's time. What does this mean? It means buckle up folks, and get ready for a whole lot of LizzieB works coming at you!**

 **Chapter 19: Put it to practice**

"Molly, I hope you recognize the fault in your logic quickly, as there is no conceivable way-"

"Shut up Sherlock. Just keep watch for me."

In some corner recess of her mind, Molly recognized he had a point. Sherlock wasn't here with her, not in the flesh. And the fact she was continuing to see him was worrisome, she hoped it didn't mean a brain bleed. But until her detective could arrive in the flesh, a hallucination would have to do.

"You're doing that wrong." Sherlock commented, leaning against the kitchen door jamb. Molly ignored him, feverishly trying to remember the various steps to picking a padlock. If only everything didn't hurt quite so much..

"First step, flatten the pin so it's easier to work with. Come come mouse, we've done this loads of times! You're not even trying." The mental detective continued. Wiping at her clammy forehead, the young pathologist tried to think. Flatten the pin, create a hook so that it might reach into the barrel and lift the pins holding the lock in place. But getting from one step to the other was eluding her. Bloody concussion.

"Why are you bothering with this anyhow? Meat dagger is an idiot, who's to say he took the key with him?" Sherlock asked. A solid point. Tom might have turned out to be an obsessive psycho, but at his core he was still a man of habit. And if her memory served her correctly, one of those habits was continuously forgetting his keys.

"He wouldn't just leave it in the open though." She mumbled. "No, unfortunately, not even Tom is that stupid. Quite close though." Sherlock snorted. It made her smile, at least. With mental Sherlock trailing behind her, Molly set out to explore the house.

" **I want him brought in Lestrade. He has her, I know he does!"** Sherlock cried, coat dripping onto the well worn carpet of the inspector's office. The weather raged outside, it's clashes of thunder perfectly timed with his outbursts. He'd been in a cab at first, wanting to take it straight to Scotland yard but had hopped out and ran just as quickly when they hit traffic. At over six feet, soaked to the skin and a glint like steel in his cold eyes, Sherlock was quite the imposing figure.

Not an uncommon sight for Lestrade actually.

"Who has what now?" He asked, rising to be on a more even level with his friend. The two officers who'd followed him in were rookies, which was probably why they thought they had a chance of stopping the young man in the first place.

"Unhand me you simpletons- Lestrade tell them, I don't have time for these imbeciles-" Struggling with the two brutes who'd grabbed onto him when he strode into their midsts, Sherlock scowled impatiently.

"Oi! Enough of that now. Boys.." He made a shooing motion, fully aware that the simplest way to deal with a worked up Holmes was to follow orders and then get the facts. Glaring, the two beat cops did as ordered and left, leaving the pair alone.

"Now, what-"

"Molly, I'm talking about Molly! Damn your slow mind, of all the-"

Before he could take off on another tirade, Lestrade held up his hand once more.

"Save it and tell me what's going on. You've found Molly, is that it? Where is she? What do you need?"

Sherlock was all but foaming at the mouth and looked a fright, but that mattered little at the moment. Lestrade made a mental note to call his brother on the way to wherever Molly was and waited expectantly, doing his best to keep things last four days he'd done nothing but follow up leads to his friend's whereabouts, checking in and trying hard to keep up hope that whoever had her wouldn't harm the young woman. He had to keep a level head, it wouldn't do for them both to be in a frenzy-

"It's Tom. Lestrade, stop your blasted daydreaming, it's TOM, do you hear me?!"

It took precious seconds for Greg's mind to catch up with what Sherlock was telling him. When it did, the first thing out of his mouth was,

"I need to make a call."

Of course, the department had checked with her ex Tom, but he hadn't been so much as late coming back from a lunch break according to his boss, and friends said he hadn't mentioned his ex fiance in weeks. However, Sherlock was so very rarely wrong about these things and with the entire force of Scotland yard backing him, Lestrade was not going to have doubts now. In between calling Mycroft and sending for the SWAT unit, Lestrade listened while Sherlock explained his reasoning. Just before they left to storm his flat, a call came in through one of the emergency responders.

They had traced a phone call, the line having been cut off just before they were able to get the exact location. However, the operator said that a young woman, identifying herself as Doctor Molly Hooper had said she was being held against her will and had a bad head injury. She wasn't certain where she was being held, said Molly, but she would stay on the line to let them trace the call. The operator had tried to keep her talking, as the young woman's words had begun to slur, before an angry male voice was heard shouting in the background and they were cut off. The responder said they had the area code and street, but as to which house it was they couldn't be certain. However, the call signal came from a construction area containing a new housing development, and most of the places were currently vacant.

Sherlock sent a text to John to meet up with them, as Molly would certainly need medical attention, and then they were off and running.

 **Molly came to in a world that was continuously spinning.** It took her another few moments to realize that it was vertigo, and not the world at large, that felt like a tilt a whirl on high-speed.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to wake up." Slow clapping alerted her to his presence, but Molly was unable to move. Ropes were cutting into her wrists, tightening further when she struggled. In front of her, Tom was sloshing gasoline over the bed she'd originally woken up in, a candle on the nightstand.

"Tom. You don't have to do this. We can still-" She began, stopping when he whirled on her.

"SHUT UP!" He roared. Molly did as told, trying not to panic, or throw up. "You're unbelievable, you know that? After everything I've done for us? And you _still_ run to him _every_ time." He continued, pouring a good amount on the dresser.

"Tom, please! I was frightened, that's all-" He shook his head vehemently, trickling more at the edge of the window.

"You called him! I was nursing you back to health, I was at work providing for us, and you went and called emergency services on me, like you needed to be rescued!" He accused.

"It- it was for you! " She tried again. He shook his head, setting down the can and kneeling in front of her.

"For me?I loved you. I loved you SO much Molls. And I got us this house, and I gave you a mystery to solve, just the way you like. So why wasn't that good enough for you? Huh? What more do I have to do for you?" He asked sadly. Molly licked dry lips and tried to scoot forward.

"No more, you've done plenty you silly git. Come on and untie me, you and I can still make a go of it." She promised. She could see the hesitation in his face and pounced on it.

"Look, like I said. I did it for you, for _us_ sweetie. You outsmarted him and he didn't even know!"

He tilted his head, setting back on his heels.

"He.. really?" He asked suspiciously. She nodded fiercely, despite how it made her head ache.

"Really. You did all this, made all these.. These grand romantic gestures for me. And Sherlock couldn't even see that it was _you_ who did them. You're right, he thought you were stupid. But he was wrong and he- he's so conceited he never even considered you as an option. So you see, I just _had_ to make sure he knew exactly who'd bested him. You won the game Tom. You won _me._ " She rambled on. From the joy that burst onto his face, Molly knew she'd said exactly the right thing. It was proven seconds later when he began to undo the knots of rope that held her fast.

"I'm sorry Molls, I should have known better, I don't know how I could ever think that-" He never got to finish his statement, as soon as her hands were free she grabbed the lamp from nightstand and brought it swinging down on top of his head. The cord brought down the candle with it and in a flash flames were filling the room. Tom dropped like a sack of potatoes and Molly ran for the door.


	20. Chapter 20: As fast as you can

**Hello everybody! My laptop is down for the count and trying to get my hands on another has been complete rubbish but here's a new chapter! Crummy presents for you all I know, but cyber cookies can't hold to real ones so this is the best I can do. Kisses!**

 **Chapter 20: As fast as you can**

The rush left him trembling. He recognized the throbbing adrenaline, the way his body licked it up like a flame following lines of triumph that normally would accompany moments like this remained absent, cold and wet worry smothering any trace of it out.

Beside him in the helicopter was John, who was carrying his emergency kit in his lap and looking grimly determined. Some forgotten corner of his too active mind marked it as the face of John Watson, Army doctor. The connection did little to comfort him.

This was war. Tom had declared it, and so Sherlock would go forth.

 _Meat dagger._ The simpering idiot plaything of Molly's. _His_ Molly. A highly unstable idiot, who was rapidly beginning to unravel. He'd played this game before and very nearly lost.

The stakes were so much higher this time.

Lestrade had wanted to put a call in for a full SWAT team and had done so. But they were taking Mycroft's helicopter. Sherlock didn't know what it had cost the inspector, the consulting detective might have done anything if only to have that slim advantage. Mycroft's transportation far surpassed anything Scotland Yard might come up with.

He only knew the two men had spoken when it landed on the pad and he threw a questioning look towards the silver fox.

"Courtesy of Myc. He says it's on the house and do try to bring your goldfish back,mummy likes her. What in the bloody hell is he on about?!"

"Get in or move." Sherlock replied,swinging in with John right behind him.

"Myc?" John asked, even as he passed.

"It's a family of stupid names and I can't very well call him "Croft" Lestrade snapped, following suit.

"If you're quite through blathering I believe the pilot is ready to be off!" Sherlock shouted over the loud beat of the rotor.

Now they were soaring through London airspace, high above the city and making plans. Lestrade was yelling into his walkie talkie, the pilot was transmitting coordinates and John turned his attention to Sherlock.

"She's still alive, we know that much. I don't want you running in half cocked Sherlock, we have to do this together alright? We'll get Molly home together." John shouted. Smoke rise in the distance, great black plumes of it in the exact direction they were headed. Lestrade switched channels and began making demands for fire trucks.

"Get Molly out." Sherlock shouted back.

"We-"

"Get her out and get her to a hospital." He finished, then turned his attention to the pilot.

"Change your course in exactly 6.2 seconds by 45 degrees if you wish to avoid clogging the motor." He yelled. Having flown with Mycroft Holmes for years, she simply nodded at Holmes the younger and did as instructed.

In a matter of minutes, they had reached their destination. From the air, they could make out a ball of flames. The smoke was thicker here, almost like a fog and the chopper landed in the circle of a half built cul-de-sac.

"One block over!" Lestrade yelled. Sherlock was already moving, scarcely waiting for the landing to be made before he was pushing aside and jumping out the door, feet moving upon impact. The others followed, SWAT teams mobilizing and heading for the inferno.

"Sherlock wait, you can't - dear god." John froze, breathing catching in his throat as a scream for help pierced the air, one pale slim arm shattering a window and reaching out, covered in blood. It vanished, another scream ringing out. In the split second it took for him to recover, Sherlock was already kicking in the rest of the glass, pulling his collar over his nose and climbing inside.

"SHERLOCK!"

 **She'd been frantically searching for the key to the front door when she was yanked back by her hair.**

"WHY. DON'T. YOU. LOVE. ME?!" Tom roared, slamming her down into the coffee table. The glass shattered beneath her, shards stabbing at her even as she scrambled up.

"Cause you're a bleedin psychopath!" She yelled back, chucking a book at his head. It missed, but he ducked directly into the path of the next novel she threw. Smoke was already filling the room, burning her eyes and collecting like grit in her lungs. She threw another book from the shelf, but he was ready this time and batted it down,charging forward.

"You _BITCH_ I'll kill you!"

He caught her around the waist, bringing them both down and almost immediately his hands went for her throat. Coughing, she reached up and pressed the pads of her thumbs directly into his eyes. He screamed and she brought his chin down onto her knee, satisfied at the crunch of his jaw. While he howled in pain she darted up and to the window, smashing through with an end table and her fist.

Coughing and gasping at the wave of fresh air, she thought she could hear the sound of a chopper's blades. People were coming, they'd found her!

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" She tried to climb through the window but there was too much glass around the edges still. She prepared to break the shards, wrapping her fist in the Afghan from the couch when Tom was on her again.

"No. No, you're mine now. I beat him, he can't have you!" Giggling, he wrapped his arm around her throat and dragged her back into the house, towards the stairs that were quickly becoming engulfed in flames. She dragged her heels, struggling but his hold only tightened.

"We'll go together. Just like our vows Molls. I, Thomas George Harrison, take you, Molly Janie-Anne Hooper, to be my lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health-" He intoned solemnly. She bit his arm, hard enough to draw blood but he only continued;

"In times of Joy and in times of sorrow, as long as we both shall live. Your turn sweetie." He cooed. She bit him again, then elbowed him in the gut. He groaned, making a wild grab and snagging the back of her shirt when she flew down the stairs. Sobbing in frustration, she clawed at the wall, trying to gain a hold as he began to speak again.

"Do you, Molly Janie-Anne Hooper take me, Thomas Harrison, to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, in times of Joy and times of sorrow, as long as we both shall live?" He asked dreamily, hauling her up the stairs. She kicked him in the kneecap with her heel. Stumbling, he finally reached the second floor, where the bedroom he'd held her hostage in burned brightly.

"By the power vested in me, I now proclaim us man and wife. It's time to kiss the bride Molly, the best part." Tom grinned maniacally, hauling her to him even as the flames licked at their skin.

This was it, she was going to die here in this damned house and she had never told Sherlock she-

"I do believe you skipped a section. If anyone should object to this union with good reason or sound mind, let them speak now or forever hold your peace!" Sherlock called out,tackling the man. The three fell in a heap and Sherlock instantly had Molly up, pushing her towards the stairs.

"Run Molly, don't look back, go!"

"Sherlock I won't leave you-"

"I'll be right behind you. Go!"

In a blur of belstaff and black, he was on the man again, shoving down and fists flying. She could hear them struggling behind her as she raced for the door, making a beeline for the window and coughing too hard to protest. Tom was screaming, a high pitched animalistic shriek and still her feet flew. Her eyes were watering so that she could scarcely see, a loud crack signaled the roof would soon be caving in.

"She's here! Over here! Molly take my hand!" John ordered, reaching for the small pathologist. Clinging to consciousness she accepted his help, let him pull her through the window and out into the open. EMT's were there, John was there and she began to cry all over again.

"Sher- Sherlock-" She coughed again, the force of it and her head injury making her vomit into the grass as the windows of the house blew out behind her. Swat was already trying to get in, even while the fire consumed the living room. The entire thing was a mass of flames, people too close to the house beginning to cough and having to turn away.

"I need an oxygen mask! Molly where is he, where's Sherlock?!" John asked, holding her while she was sick.

"Right- right behi-" She gasped out, spilling the rest of her stomach contents over his shoes.

"There's too much smoke, the place is unstable!" Someone yelled.

The roof fell in.


	21. Chapter 21: Recovery

**The story is nearly done little Darcy's but there's probably going to be a couple chapters at least after this so stick around!**

 **Chapter 21: Recovery**

She didn't go to the funeral.

Maybe she should have, it might have helped convince her he was really dead and gone. The other were swift to reassure her, being stuck in the hospital with a level three concussion, smoke inhalation and contusions to the throat were all very good reasons to stay put. Not to mention, _not_ going did not make her a bad person. But they didn't understand, none of them could. John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson, all of them. They were always there to offer their support and a kind word or soft smile. She wasn't going to go through recovery alone, she'd remade her life to include this little family. Even feeling as rotten as she was.

It was exactly how Sherlock would have wanted it, had he been around.

The day of the wake, she didn't speak. It was too much effort and anyway, she wasn't sure what exactly she was feeling. Some emotion too loud and rough in her chest to name just yet. On one dreary Saturday morning, at precisely 11:34, Thomas George Harrison was laid down in his final resting place. His ashes anyway, his family had decided on cremation after the state the body had been found in.

Molly felt like the scum of the earth.

So many deaths, because of her. The terror he had wrought, the pain and anguish. Melody Hoft, the poor girl from that awful video Tom had made. Her mother had actually visited Molly in the hospital, and they'd had a very nice chat. Melody's mum had given Molly her daughter's charm bracelet, a delicate gold chain with a little letter M and a tiny letter H hanging from it. The pair promised to keep in touch.

She toyed with the letters now, curled up on her hospital bed. The gold caught the light, creating small colorful spheres here and there. She'd been lucky, to have Sherlock on her side. The others hadn't had that advantage. But then, that's why Tom had done it, wasn't it? Because she stood for Sherlock Holmes, and her place had been at his side. Those deaths were on her conscious and no other-

"Mouse stop sulking. It's really more my past time, wouldn't you agree?"

"Sherlock!"

There he was, in the doorway to her room leaning against the frame cool as you please. Even in a hospital gown, his lanky frame still made her heart do flip flops. He smirked at her.

"You're thinking rather loudly Molly. Care to share with the class?"

"Get back here you git!"

John charged forward, irritable and pushing a still warm wheelchair. Sherlock didn't even have the decency to _pretend_ he was sorry.

"You _drama queen_ you're _supposed_ to be resting in bed or in this chair!" The doctor growled, pushing past him with it.

"You nearly ran me over just now, doesn't that defeat the purpose of your fussing?" Sherlock retorted, voice still a hoarse shadow of itself. John glared.

"I think I liked you better with the tube down your throat, you couldn't run your mouth then." Was his sharp reply. "Your arse,in chair. _Now."_

Sherlock raised a brow, something that surely had to cause him pain based on the two black eyes he was sporting. One arm was in a cast where it had been fractured when a beam fell in on him. His head was bandaged, part of his beautiful thick curls shorn short where they'd gone in surgically. And he was even thinner than usual. Really, he looked rather ghastly but on the whole Molly couldn't complain. He was here, that was all that mattered.

"It does give me chills to hear you order me about so John. But then, what would Mrs. Hudson think?" He crooned. The army doctor's face turned downright murderous, a soft edgy smile on his lips.

"That's right, keep testing me. Have a laugh. But the hospital is MY domain Sherlock and I do have the power to keep you here. For as long as I bloody well please."

The detective rolled his eyes.

"As if I couldn't get past any of the paltry attempts at security." He scoffed, even as he settled down in the waiting chair. "If you're so insistent, fine. Make yourself useful and bring me to Molly." He ordered, with an imperious wave of his hand. Molly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He was okay. Sherlock was okay.

John rolled him over, squawking another protest as the young man rose and clambered in beside his pathologist.

"Shove over won't you? They never make these beds of ample size. We'll have to be moved to a private room, I'll have Mycroft arrange it." Sherlock murmured, already cuddling around his girlfriend and putting his head down on her pillow with a sigh.

"Sherlock you can't just-"

"I'm resting John, shut up."

Molly might have giggled, but it felt nice to snuggle up to his warm chest and John looked thoroughly exasperated.

"I'll be sending Dr. James round, you still need to be kept on watch. A bleed on the brain is serious business and you're still getting used to walking with those bruises."

"Sleeping John."

"And another thing- oh no you don't! Stop steepling your fingers around Molly, Sherlock don't you dare go into your mind palace when I'm talking to- prat!"

Molly did smile then, just a small one and presses closer. John just sighed and ducked out, giving them their privacy. Everything was sore, and she was surprised they both somehow fit in the bed, but she pressed her forehead to his own.

"Promise me you're real?" She whispered.

"Do you often envision me in your bed Dr. Hooper?" He muttered, eyes still closed. She gave him a little poke and scooted closer.

"Please. It's.. I need to know."

Those beautiful blue eyes that could stare like ice and just as quickly thaw into a smirk opened up, met her own frightened brown ones.

"I promise."

 **They slept for awhile after that, the nurses awwing over the pair of them when out of earshot.** She'd only slept fitfully until he was there with her, she could still feel the heat of the flames and smell smoke everytime she closed her eyes. Despite most people thinking of him as some kind of superhuman, Sherlock _was_ in fact very much mortal and his daring rescue of the pathologist was not without it's consequences.

When the roof caved in, it had effectively cut off the oxygen flooding the house and feeding the fire. Sherlock had been found in the mess of what was left of the stairs, unresponsive with his arm at an unnatural angle and a lump the size of a softball on his head. They'd gotten an oxygen mask on him, set his arm and gone in to relieve the brain swelling. Complications arose from a bleed directly on the brain, but that too was quickly handled. Both he and Molly had needed a good deal of recovery time, but he'd been determined to see her and the dramatic entrance had less to do with his pride and more to do with proving he could still be a potential suitor.

After all, he was the reason she was in the mess. It was a flaw somewhere in _his_ thinking that had left her with that mad man for as long as she had been. He didn't know all the details, not yet. But he'd been getting updates on her, the first thing he'd asked for was a status on his pathologist.

"She's got a touch of survivor's guilt I think. Definitely some post traumatic stress." Lestrade explained during one of his visits. Sherlock nodded, he was still figuring out exactly how much talking he could do without aggravating his sore throat. Then again, tubes down your esophagus did that to you.

"Go on." Sherlock prodded, filing the information away.

"They're keeping a close eye for possible long term effects from her concussion and she doesn't have much of a voice from where Tom tried choking her. Speaking of.. We found his remains." Greg finished, studying the younger man. The detective's eyes stayed on the ceiling.

"The body was found at the base of the master bedroom on the second floor. According to the coroner report, there were trace amounts of wood shavings embedded in the fingertips, as though he'd been clawing at the door. The fire chief says the door in question wasn't as damaged as other spots in the home, so he's not sure what could have been blocking it. Coroner thinks he tried to get out but was stuck and eventually succumbed to smoke inhalation. The fire badly burned the body though, so we can't be entirely certain. Anything to add to the report Sherlock?" He asked carefully. Sherlock's eyes flicked over to him.

"It must be like your man says inspector. My only concern was Molly's safety."

The men were silent. Greg watched him for another long minute before rising. " Must be. I'll stop by again if you need anything." The young man nodded and went back into his mind palace. Lestrade went to finish up the paperwork. The still life murderer had been caught, that was what mattered.

Case closed.


	22. Chapter 22: Nature versus nurture

**Well little Darcy's, it's that time again! NANOWRIMO which means lots of chapter updates that are sporadic and long as I try to write 50,000 words this month. I'm also hard at work at a new draft of my novel so wish me luck! After this chapter things will get brighter, promise and we're in the home stretch here so send me more Sherlolly ideas to play with!**

 **Chapter 22:Nature versus nurture**

"You don't have to do this Molly. You're still recovering-"

"I KILLED her son. I owe her this much, at least."

Lestrade sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue. He might have asked Sherlock for help, but the young detective was sound asleep in the bed recently vacated by his pathologist. At least Molly was sitting up in the recliner, that was something. Privately he thought she ought to get back in bed but knew better than to push.

Still recuperating , the pair was now in a private room courtesy of Mycroft for a price to be specified later. As much as Sherlock hated it, his body would not be forced to heal any faster than it chose to and he still slept a great deal of the time. Being put in such a position, he was loathe to be further than five feet from Molly at all times and preferred to keep a bandaged hand on her whenever possible.

Meanwhile, Molly's body had begun to repair itself but her mind would not. She had survivor's guilt, a hospital appointed therapist came to speak with her every other day, and she said little to anyone who wasn't Sherlock. For the last hour, she'd fixated on his hands, the fingers still encased in plasters. John had told her of the manic violin marathon when she'd been missing, it would be a bit of time before he could let his thumbs fly over the screen of his phone again.

She was considering redoing the wrappings herself when Lestrade came in, saying there was a visitor in the lobby. No, a visitor implied someone friendly and concerned for your well being. This was.. she couldn't explain it.

"I'll be right here with you. And I have my man outside, whatever she wants she can't hurt you alright? And if at anytime you feel unsafe or unwell, signal me and the audience will be cut short." Greg promised. She nodded slowly, wishing not for the first time that she could just get back into bed and forget any of this had ever happened.

With a quick smile of reassurance, he went out, already speaking into his walkie talkie. In a few minutes, he returned, this time in the company of an older woman with dark circles under her eyes and a hastily thrown together bun. Suddenly Molly forgot how to breathe.

"Hello Molly."

Tom's mother.

"Hello Regina."

She couldn't do this, why did she think she could do this?

"I heard.. I saw on the news. They said you- when they had to do a closing interview with us, they told me you weren't doing- is that him?" She nodded suddenly at Sherlock's sleeping form, clutching her handbag like a lifeline. "Your detective?" The shame she felt made her curl inward.

"Yes. Sherlock." Tom's mother pursed her lips, turning back to Molly and steadfastly refusing to look back at him again.

"I see. So then Tom was right, there was something there between you." She spat out, knuckles white on the handle of her bag. "No! No, that isn't- No. I only- this is a, um.. It's a more recent development." Molly wasn't sure if it was her head or the conversation making her feel sick to her stomach, but her money was on the conversation.

"That's why he did this! If you hadn't- you and the fancy detective, sneaking behind his back-"

Molly's eyes widened, Greg stepping in closer as the woman moved past implications and her eyes began to fill.

"It's your fault, you were stepping out behind his back and that's why he felt like-"

"That's not true!" Molly cried.

"No?! Then what's the explanation? My baby would never do something like-" She broke off then, swallowing back tears and too distraught to continue. And yet somehow Molly was done trying to find compassion, done with wearing shame like a coat.

"Like what? Assault and murder innocent women? Because he _did_ Regina, he brutalized and killed those women and then he hurt _me_. I almost died, did you know that? If Sherlock and the others hadn't saved me, he would have killed me for sure. And why? Because he couldn't stand that I said _no_. He couldn't take the fact that I didn't love him that way. I tried to be fair and I tried to be kind, and he nearly killed me. You can't pin that on me, Tom was a big boy who made his own choices. Choices that hurt others. You think I don't lie awake, wondering what might have been? If any of this would have happened had I married him? Would he have loved me, would he have begun to hurt me? I don't know. But I can't know for certain and though I'll always wonder, I won't let you stand here and tell me that I behaved in any way that was less than honest and faithful. I was always faithful to Tom and I DID love him. But not enough. And.. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I ever entered any of your lives Regina." She covered her face, trying to hold herself together enough not to completely break down and startled when the older woman spoke.

"There wasn't - you know, you always read about the psychos and people always go and say "Oh I knew it all along, there was always something off about him." Or they go on TV and you see the neighbors saying "he was such a nice boy, he didn't have many friends though maybe that's why." She sat in a chair,continuing numbly, "Maybe his parents abused him or something tragic happened. They always try and understand it you see. But Tom, he- he wasn't like any of those." She bit her lip, slowly shredding a tissue in her hands.

"He was a good boy. He was my good sweet boy and you saw, you knew him, he.." She looked up pleadingly, as though she were begging Molly to understand. "You knew him. You saw. You saw." She said again. Molly tried to swallow and found that her mouth had gone dry.

"He just wanted to be special. That's all. He wanted to be clever, he always tried so hard in school, he came home with good marks." The tissue in her hands was gone, little pieces of white snowing down into her lap. She dabbed at her eyes with a new one, though that piece was headed for the same fate as its brethren.

"He wanted to be clever. I didn't mean for this all to happen, I always tried to teach my children right from wrong. Are you and he going to have children?" She asked suddenly. Molly bit her lip so hard she thought she'd draw blood.

"I don't - it's early days yet. We talked about it, a little." She admitted,ignoring the way Lestrade tried to cover an exclamation with a cough.

"I think you'll be a good mother. Better than I was, though that wouldn't be hard. All you'd have to do is make sure your baby doesn't turn out to be a murderer!' She sobbed into her hands and Molly hesitated for a brief moment before she squeezed the other woman's shoulder.

"It wasn't - this isn't your fault, that's what you have to understand. You didn't kill anybody and you- you weren't the one who hurt me. Tom did that, nobody else. You did your very best, I'm sure but we each of us must make our own decisions. Unfortunately his were… were the wrong ones." Unable to say more for fear she might begin to cry herself, she pulled her hand away and tried not to cringe when Regina caught her in her own hold.

"I'm sorry Molly. From the bottom of my heart. We all liked you. Tom said- he said some things and I wanted to believe them because that's what mothers do you see. They take their little one's side and protect them as best they're able. I can't protect him from this though. And I truly am I sorry. We would have liked so much for you to be a part of our family." She sniffed, trying to collect herself and rose, brushing away the tissue bits.

"I understand, if you hate me. As his mother, I ought to have known.. But I didn't. And I hope some day you can forgive me for that failure. " Nodding at Lestrade, she left, still weeping and leaving Molly in stunned silence. Slowly, Lestrade came over and knelt in front of her.

"You alright Molls?" She shook her head,taking ahold of her own tissues. "Would- would you give me a minute Greg? I think I need a little time." He nodded, kissing her head and heading for the door.

"I'll be just in the hall if you need anything." He promised. Once out of sight, she went to the bed and crawled in beside her sleeping detective, pressing close so that she could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady instead of the monitors which suddenly seemed loud and foreboding.

"Excellent job Mouse, you handled that well." A sleepy voice mumbled. She jumped, looking up at him in surprise. "You- you heard?" He smirked, which was funny considering he had to still be more than half asleep.

Not opening his eyes, he put his hand in her hair and stroked the dark locks in soothing circles.

"You shouldn't blame yourself, in the same way she shouldn't either. Though I won't tolerate name calling from anyone towards you." He mumbled, still sounding drowsy.

"Sherlock she- she had a point thought, he probably thought we were-' His eyes opened suddenly and she inhaled sharply, the depth of emotion there vast and unending.

"I believed you to be cheating on me when you weren't even aware we were romantically involved, did I commit a murder?" She raises an eyebrow and he snorted. "Humor Molly, don't make jokes. We've discussed this before, evidently well need a refresher course-" She nudged him, laughing through the tears. "Go on you prat,what were you saying?" He sighed and kissed her forehead.

"I was saying that even when I felt some of the most jealousy and heartache I might have ever experienced, it did not inspire me to murder. There were far more creative ways to catch your attention, killing was an easy gimmick." It was Molly's turn to gap in disbelief, only Sherlock Holmes would consider murder an attention grabbing tactic.

"My point being, you were not in the wrong here, he simply couldn't cope. Mind you, this is coming from a drug addict who takes drugs as an alternative to boredom. You couldn't have saved him and there was nothing you might have done differently. Not even marriage." He said, as she opened her mouth.

"But -"

"But?"

She sighed.

"But if I HAD married him… do you think he still would have-" He shook his head,cutting her off again.

"He would have found another reason to kill. You may have even been his first victim. We'll never know, for certain. But I don't believe you were the be all end all Molly Hooper, though my world you may be. "

She tried not to focus too hard on the fact that she was apparently the whole of the Holmesian world and instead took comfort in his reassurance.

"I yelled at her." She admitted. It felt good to say it out loud, even if he had heard them. "I yelled at her and I didn't care, I was awful Sherlock!"

He smiled slightly, something so real about the tender look in his eye she almost wanted to look away.

"No Molly, you were honest. With her, and with yourself. That's never an easy thing, but you did it. And I'm proud of you."

She thought her heart might burst ,and so she hid it away in his chest,clinging so that he wouldn't see her in hysterics. For once, he knew exactly the right thing to say and right now, it was to say nothing and keep her close. He went back to sleep and she spend the rest of the day curled up in his arms.


	23. Chapter 23: Home is where the skull is

**Little Darcy's, this story is drawing to a close and I've got to admit, I'm at a lost. It's been my baby for so long I don't really know how to say goodbye. However, this has been a fantastic journey and I thank you so much for being here with me. I won't end it here just yet, I think there's going to be about two more chapters before it's all said and done but start sending in those ideas, where will Sherlolly be going next?**

 **Chapter 23: Home is where the skull is**

"Alright Sherlock, easy steps now, there's a lad-"

"Mrs. Hudson I injured my head and my arm, not my legs. I'm perfectly capable of walking."

The pair made their way up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson close behind and fussing. Finally Sherlock was able to come home. Molly had been released about two weeks prior, and after a very awkward conversation, she'd returned to Baker street if only to keep the place up until Sherlock could get out of hospital.

"You might at least _try_ to pretend you're glad to see me, It's not been easy with the press hounding me for details pertaining to your recovery and the men with cameras in the bushes." Mrs. Hudson scolded, getting him to the couch. As he'd said, he might be capable of walking on his own but he still tired easily and had yet to take anything more than a three for cases.

"Fine. I'm happy to see you." He smiled up at her as he settled in and she beamed back.

"Sherlock do you really mean that?"

"Of course. Now get out."

"Well!"

Huffing, she turned to Molly and nodded at the kitchen table.

"I've left some lunch on the table there for you Molly, don't give him any of the sweets until he's got better manners." Molly nodded, smiling apologetically while the older woman headed out of the flat.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, that's very kind. I'll bring the basket by later."

Her footsteps were heard on the stairs, and then they were alone. Something that now felt stiff and awkward to Molly, which was really very silly considering they'd been sharing a bed most of the time during the early healing process.

"Well then. You probably want to rest up."

"Molly-"

"I'll just tidy some things up and then leave you to-"

"Molly-"

"Or maybe I should go out and get some groceries, I meant to do the shopping-"

"Molly sit down. Please."

She sat, trying hard not to chew her thumb nail nervously.

"Is everything alright? Do you need to take your medication?"

"I need to speak to you."

Her stomach dropped. She supposed she'd been waiting for this conversation since she'd come back to Baker street on her own, Sherlock Holmes was many things but a patient man was not one of them. He grew bored easily and didn't often trouble himself about anyone. And boy had she been a lot of trouble lately. Not to mention she was boring and overly emotional and-

"Mouse. Thinking loud."

She felt her cheeks heat and tried not to stammer.

"Right. Sorry. I-"

"I'm sorry."

That threw her through a loop. _He_ was sorry? For what? She was the one who'd nearly gotten him killed.

"I don't understand." He sat himself up, with a care that he usually did not take and the movement making her heart beat a little faster. She wanted to take care of him, seeing him lying there and so vulnerable was a fear that she would not soon forget. She helped fluff his pillows and then sat beside him, carefully leaning against his chest and snuggling closer when he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm sorry. I should have figured it out sooner. I was so concerned at the loss of you, I let it cloud my judgement. It weakened me in a way I didn't anticipate. For that, I apologize. You were worth more than my best and I couldn't give it to you until it was almost too late. I know you'll probably require time, but I hope that one day you can forgive me-"

Molly was never a bold type and often wished she might be the sort to take chances, or to be able to make a man's head spin. That is, one man in particular. So when she kissed him now, it was a sort of instinct that she hadn't formerly given voice to. But being taken by Tom had frightened her into the realization that life was very very short, and that it could change at the drop of a hat. The brief amount of time when no one could tell her if Sherlock was alright, what was happening.. it had been one of the most terrifying times in her entire life and that included being kidnapped by her psycho ex.

"I- err.. Molly that's very nice but if you would cease your ministrations, I don't know that I'm quite healed enough to-"

"Oh! Oh sorry, Sorry Sherlock." She scrambled back, ready to offer more apologies before she noticed that he'd yanked her into his lap during their kiss and his hands had been creeping higher than they ever had. She raised an eyebrow.

"I.. as the other half of our romantic endeavor I assumed I was to reciprocate your affections?" He offered sheepishly. She smiled back.

"You assumed correctly. And maybe.. Sherlock you saved my life. You made me feel safe and you didn't push me or tell me it was wrong to feel the way I did. You just let me have time. I think you don't give yourself enough credit." She kissed his bandaged head, lightly stroking the still growing back curls and smiled when he kissed her lightly.

"Might we engage in more amorous displays? I'm told that it's the best medicine." He murmured, nuzzling her. She grinned, cuddling closer.

"I think the saying is laughter is the best medicine."

"It's an old saying and I've a head wound, I can't be expected to remember these things mouse."

After Sherlock came home, things were more or less back to normal. Molly worked at the morgue, letting Sherlock come in and do experiments or look at interesting bodies she'd found along with their less than normal demise. Sherlock worked cases when John could get off baby detail. Essentially, they were exactly as they had been before this had begun.

Which was precisely the problem.

She hadn't wanted to push, they'd both been through quite an ordeal and she figured he would need some time to recuperate even if he wouldn't admit to it. Molly had also needed a little time herself, when you've had not one but TWO murderous psychos for an ex, you tend to want a little time to take a good long look in the mirror. She'd been to the therapist as the doctors had suggested, and she tried hard to get herself better but it wasn't easy. The talk with Regina had helped a little, she'd been able to admit to herself that it wasn't her fault Tom had done what he had. And she'd felt good, looking back, that she could still stand up for herself and hadn't become that shy soft spoken woman who stammered around others and hesitated to make any moves for fear that they were the wrong ones.

Even so, things weren't quite right. During the hunt for the still life killer, Sherlock had kept her close, asked her to move in, been attentive and let her meet his parents. Now though she'd moved back into her own flat and didn't see much of him unless they both happened to be consulting on a case. She'd tried calling and texting, getting a few short responses back but nothing like what how'd they'd been before.

As it was, a few months later she was struggling to come back from her kidnapping experience and a broken heart on top of it. Rather viciously, she cracked open the chest of a cadaver and privately wondered if she should tell her therapist how satisfying doing that felt these days.

"I don't recall that being part of the original training for pathology, but perhaps I'm needing to brush up on these things?"

The smug voice was uncharacteristically gentle and even a little shy. She didn't bother looking up.

"Sorry Sherlock, I'm afraid nothing new's come in recently. I'll text and let you know as soon as I see anything."

"I didn't come for-"

Not in the mood to hear him speak, or to be around the man who'd managed to get under her skin so completely, Molly turned on the saw and let it buzz loudly.

"I can't hear you, sorry. Maybe we can talk later? I need to get Mr. Gibbons ready to go."

He didn't say goodbye before he left and she blinked back tears in the hope that she wouldn't have to take her gloves off to clean the protective goggles she was wearing. It was well and truly over. He didn't love her anymore, or perhaps he'd never had. She cut through flesh and bone, trying to push everything else out but her work. And perhaps sliced through something delicate and fragile in herself, in the process.

She didn't need 'd been fine before Sherlock Holmes. And she would be just fine after.


	24. I don't know who u r but i'm with you

**I almost didn't write this, it's supposed to be a fun light hearted fic and I think i've gotten away from that. It was hard to write too, for personal reasons. But somehow, it just came spilling out of me. This chapter is dark, maybe one of the darker things I've written but I'd like to return to the happier things from before so this fic will be getting more chapters until I feel like I've done that. TRIGGER WARNINGS: This chapter has mentions of suicide, slight drug use and an attempted suicide. Little Darcy's, I don't know you but I value your reviews and you're reading my words so SO much. It means the world to me to know you're out there and you make me smile. Please know that is worth the world, and you make a very real difference in my life, you matter.**

 **CHAPTER 24: I don't know who you are but I'm with you**

Sherlock was angry.

It was not a feeling he was accustomed to, though as usual it was directed towards himself. He knew he should have been more open with Molly, but the truth of it was he didn't know how to be. She'd always understood him so well, but he couldn't ask her to accept and see this.

He felt raw. He hadn't been that close to dying since.. well it had been a few months at least but still. The thing he hated the most was not being in control of his faculties and the smoke had taken that from him. It had filled and choked his lungs, he briefly remembered seeing lights and doctors above him and then when he awoke he wasn't even completely himself. He wasn't sure if Molly had made it out, and no one could tell him because he couldn't speak with the tube down his throat. When he'd finally been released, his look, his abilities,it had been changed and slowed until it was something he couldn't recognize. Once out of the hospital he trained himself until the pain was too much each day, forced himself to go until he needed to go into his mind palace if only to escape the throbbing in his skull.

He wanted to deserve her love. He didn't know how.

She would understand. She always did, she would be alright. And then they would come together again, somehow. They would be alright, he was sure of it.

 **For a time, it seemed that he might be right.** They worked cases, had lunch and worked on experiments. They were okay.

Then he went to the lab.

She was at the table, working on a cadaver and he was supremely comforted at the normal sight. Her lab coat was unbuttoned, lips pursed in concentration and some awful pop song playing in the background, whatever was a recent hit or maybe it wasn't, he didn't know. It was exactly as it should have been and he thought perhaps he'd ask her to dinner, it had been awhile and he missed their affection.

Except she wouldn't look at him. Her voice was breaking every word, she wouldn't smile or acknowledge him in all the little ways that she usually did. He didn't understand, and told the Watson's as soon as they opened their door.

"What do you think, you haven't spoken to her in weeks mate." John scolded gently. He shifted in his seat, then gave up trying to be comfortable and instead stretched out on the couch, steepling his fingers.

"We've texted. And we had experiments-"

"Sherlock I know that that's part of your courtship but there's more to it then that. She's been through something and she probably feels alone now. When was the last time you had a proper conversation?"

He hadn't realized he'd left her alone. He'd been under the assumption she too needed time to gather her wits about her.

"I- she understands me. She sees me. She always sees me." It was the only thing he could say, he was at a loss.

In Holmesian fashion, he needed to make amends. He _would_ make amends, he had to. He couldn't lose Molly Hooper.

Not again.

 **After she'd finished with the body, she worked on another, and another.** And then one more. She lost herself, pulled a double, moved and lifted and studied and worked until she couldn't feel her limbs and was nearly falling asleep in the cab.

Molly didn't want to think, she didn't want to feel. She thought she might understand why Sherlock tried to numb out his mind with drugs, it seemed a better alternative than having to face her thoughts alone.

Bone tired, she made her way up to her flat, fumbled with the keys in the door. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath, her fuzziest pajamas and to eat chocolate biscuits with Toby. But that was so much work, and honestly maybe she would just fall into bed fully clothed.. She opened the door and groaned.

Of _course_ he would choose tonight to make some sort of grand gesture.

"Sherlock wha-"

"It's for you. I was- I spoke to John. He said you needed- it's for you."

She looked at the flat, with the soft lighting and the kettle on, the TV already set to her favorite show on the DVR and cookies on the coffee table. Not saying anything, she moved past him to her bedroom, where a new pair cosy PJ's were laid out, they had little smiling skulls on them and a pair of fuzzy footies that matched. The bathroom was steamy, the water hot and bubbly, candles lit and at the ready.

"Sherlock.." She sighed. She was too tired to deal with this.

"I know I wasn't what I should have been. I left you alone when you needed me. You don't have to forgive me, we don't even need to discuss our relationship right now. Tonight, I just want to take care of you. The way you always do me. Please Molly."

She would _not_ let him see her cry. She would not _._ She gave him a curt nod, not trusting herself to speak and instead went into the bathroom and shut the door. She thought she could hear him on the other side, feel the gentle thud of his body leaning back against its surface and leaned her head against it, letting the tears fall. She'd missed him so much and now here he was, exactly as she'd been hoping for all those lonely nights. It wasn't fair. If she let him in again, would this be the outcome? The two of them, separated in body by a door and in spirit by so much more than that? But then, she wasn't connected to anyone was she? Anytime she got to close to someone, how did it turn out? Death. Various forms of it. She was closer to the dead then the living.

Hauling herself up, she shed her clothes and slid into the tub, letting the water engulf her and putting her head beneath the water, trying to push out the pain. She ran the water, filling the tub higher and stayed under, ignoring the burning of her lungs. It was too much, she couldn't live with this. She was empty and alone and Tom had hurt so many people and it wasn't Sherlock's fault he hadn't come around, that was the sort of person she attracted because there was something so fundamentally WRONG about her-

"Molly? Are you alright?"

The water felt nice. Warm and welcoming, it took her into it's arms and whispered that the pain would soon be gone. It was all right here, in the water...

"Molly!? Molly open the door! Molly!"

Tom had killed because of her. Moriarty hadn't noticed her, she was nought more than a fly on the wall. Sherlock had grown bored because she was boring. Her father had died, leaving her alone. She was always alone in the end, wasn't she? She was the worst sort of trouble, it was her fault those people were dead, her fault she hadn't been smart enough to-

"MOLLY!"

Dimly she registered the door being broken down, the sudden flood of oxygen that pulled her back into a very bright light and wet fabric scratching at her naked skin.

"Molly! Molly I'm here, open your eyes and breathe, come on Molly come on! Don't leave me. Stay with me mouse, don't leave me, please don't leave me.." She felt a mouth on hers, breathing in air, letting her lungs expand. Gulping in greedy mouthfuls of air, she leaned over and vomited water, shivering against Sherlock.

"Sherl- sherlock- I.. it's so much. It's all so much." She was crying, only she didn't really know why when she'd been so calm only moments earlier. He picked her up, soaked to the skin and somewhere in her mind she absentmindedly wondered if he would have to have his clothing dry cleaned.

"I know mouse. I know." He carried her to her room, laying her out against the sheets and rubbing warmth back into her chilly form. She couldn't stop shaking and now it was getting harder to breathe, even while she fought to do so.

"Sherlock I didn't mean to- I didn't mean to.."

"Shhh. I know. It's alright. It's going to be alright."

He dried her off, dressed her carefully in the pajamas he'd bought. She was coming back to herself, she couldn't believe what she'd almost done. That hadn't been her, had that been her? It couldn't have been.

"It's alright Molly. I'm here and I'm not leaving. It's alright.." He rubbed her arms, rubbed rough circles into her legs to get the blood flowing and tucked her in.

"I'm just going to the kitchen. I'll be right back, wait for me here." It wasn't really a request, but she nodded all the same. She was still crying, she touched her face and it was wet from the tears. Sherlock mopped up her face, then ducked out and just as quickly returned with a steaming mug of tea.

"Drink this, it'll give you back your strength." The tea was hot and sweet, brewed strong. She drank it down, sipping until the warmth had gone down her throat and warmed her belly. Gently Sherlock took it away and removed his clothes, pulling on sleepwear that had been left behind during the years he'd been away dismantling Moriarty's network.

"I've sent for John. He should be here shortly."

He poured another cup out, one for her and one for himself and together they waited.

 **"** **Good news, doesn't sound like anything too terrible.** You'll still need to go to hospital, we need to be certain there's no lingering effects. But for the best thing for you is a bit of rest, hmm? I'll let Sherlock and you have some time." The former army doctor cast a meaningful look at his friend and headed to the kitchen.

"I told you I was fine."

"You're not."

"Oh so you can see that too can you?!" She hadn't meant to snap at him, she didn't know what she meant. He didn't argue though, just tucked her back in. Those stupid tears were running down her cheeks again, she wanted to be held and she wanted to stand on her own, she was completely alone and more than anything she wanted someone by her side.

She watched, still sniffling and let him pull her in tight against his chest and turn out the light.

"Go to sleep Molly. The sun will always rise to something better in the morning."

She would try. And he would be right there with her.

 **Once Molly had fallen asleep, Sherlock got back up and joined John in the living room. He sank in beside him, folded one thin leg over the other and looked towards his best friend expectantly.**

"Physically she's fine." He murmured to the unspoken question.

"And mentally?"

John shook his head with a heavy sigh.

"Mentally she's.. This isn't my area of expertise Sherlock. Molly needs help-"

"She's going to therapy."

"Yes, but how often?"

Sherlock pulled out a cigarette, using the stove flame to light it.

"Twice a month, every other tuesday."

Another head shake.

"It isn't enough. She needs help and support. This was a very real attempt at ending her own life. We can't leave her alone through this, I don't think she'll make it."

He inhaled, slowly let the nicotine fill his lungs and calm away the worst of his nerves that had been fraying ever since he'd seen the water beginning to pool under the door of the bathroom.

"I'm a logical man John, emotions are your departement. I could barely pull myself together, how do I help her?" Even as long as he'd known him, it was still a shock to see Sherlock shaken. And tonight.. he'd been rambling, almost frantic to the point John questioned if he'd taken something. The phone call was anything but calm, no where near snide and if he wasn't mistaken, there were tears in his eyes now that were gone as soon as he strained to look twice.

John rose and patted him on the shoulder.

"The fact that you're asking is a good sign and the first step. Molly isn't alone and neither are you. Mary and I, we're here. You have us. You've got lestrade and Mrs. Hudson and Mike, hell even Mycroft. You reach out to networks, do legwork and research, touch base with whoever you need to during a case. Molly's your new case Sherlock. We're your resources. Use us."

Sometime, in the wee hours when the world was still sleeping and the sun had not yet encroached upon the night sky, Molly woke up. Sherlock was there, curled around her body protectively and his fingers laced in hers. She needed to tell him.

"I don't want to die. I - I just don't want to hurt anymore."

His eyes opened and he pressed his forehead to hers.

"I know. I've felt that way myself before." He whispered back.

"I didn't go into the bath thinking- I wasn't going to do that. I didn't plan it. I'm sorry Sherlock."

She couldn't find her voice, if she spoke any louder that would make it too real and she wasn't ready to face that yet.

"I'm not angry Molly. Not at you. I should have seen what this had done to you. I see the whole world, I can see the entirety of a person's life in the shoes they wear and the jacket on their back but I didn't see you."

This talk had been a long time in coming and for some reason they were having it now. But she couldn't stop until the words were out, until he knew what had been swirling in her mind so viciously.

"I was angry at you." She admitted. He didn't say anything, simply let her continue.

"I was angry because you came into the house and you almost died. And all of this, it felt like you and he were trying to play a game that I was a piece in, but people died Sherlock. I didn't, but I could have. I don't think you realize, what it's like loving someone the way I do you. It's all encompassing, like something buzzing in my system and it won't leave, you're a part of me. I need you like I need breathing and suddenly my oxygen was taken away. You seemed to be treating me like I was a case closed, you were just.. it felt like you were done with me. I'd stood by you, but it felt like I had to fight this alone. It felt- I always end up I didn't need the famous consulting detective Sherlock, I needed MY sherlock. I needed the one who planned out experiments and danced me around his living room flat and the one who was nervous about me meeting his mum. I wasn't expecting perfection Sherlock and I didn't want it. I just wanted you."

It felt like a weight was lifted. She wasn't sure how he'd react and she was shocked to find she didn't care. Her pain was real and valid.

"Molly..."

"I'm not saying this to hurt you. I just wanted you to know."

He nodded, kissed her cold little fingers.

" I needed time of my own but I didn't know how to tell you Molly. You see me and you think I have amazing gifts, you think of me as a wonder. But I wasn't and I'm not. I let you down, and the later victims of Tom. I wasn't smart enough, I didn't see what I needed to. You're the only one who sees me like that. And you always have, even when I hurt you, even when I was cruel though I didn't mean it. I couldn't bear the thought of losing that. It's what matters most. You've always mattered most."

She swallowed hard, licked dry lips and pressed closer, trying to bury herself in his warmth.

"I'm afraid Sherlock. I'm not okay. I thought I was getting there. But I'm not."

He rubbed her back, fighting back her demons and keeping the mental monsters at bay.

"You will be. I know it. I have faith in you Molly, I have every confidence."

"Will.. will you help me?"

"Every step of the way."

True to his word, Sherlock readjusted his focus. He worked cases in the waiting rooms of her therapy appointments, made sure she took the antidepressants and anxiety medication she was prescribed. More than once, there were sleepovers when she'd had a long day, stress always seemed to make the nightmares worse. The doctors told her she had PTSD and survivor's guilt, but assured her this was completely normal. He made certain there was always a cab available to get her to appointments, occasionally she'd return home from work and find the entire place spotless and tea waiting for her.

She was learning new things about him too, like the fact that he could cook because he'd watched several hours of cooking reality TV alongside her and decided to mimic the recipes "because nourishment was vital to healing in body and mind." They weren't exactly dating, but when she was feeling up to it they'd often cuddle and kiss a bit, or he'd press a peck to her cheek, a kiss to her hair. He never pushed for more and made certain that she had a support network" comprised of more than just himself, (something she found out from John, apparently he'd spent 48 straight hours on his computer researching 'best way to help a loved one during recovery' and made a few calls. Mrs. Hudson had been assigned to help with cleaning, Mary and the offspring were to cheer her up as needed, John was the medical viewpoint and Lestrade was to talk Mycroft in providing funds whenever necessary.) a fact that she appreciated endlessly. He was there as he'd promised, every step of the way and Molly slowly grew stronger. Eventually, she looked on her calendar and realized it'd been nearly a year since her entire ordeal. Her recovery was slow going some days, but she'd been making good progress.

There was just one more thing she needed to do.


	25. Chapter 25: Lightly to thoughts of love

**Thank you so much little Darcy's for sticking it out. This story took some unexpected twists and turns for certain! But not to fear, this won't be the last you see of Sherlolly. I've ideas for a sequel that I think you're all really gonna like. But no matter what, so much love to you all my darlings, I'll see you next time!**

 **Chapter 25: Lightly to thoughts of love**

He was on his way to a crime scene when his phone buzzed. Noting the "let me out I'm stuck in your pocket!" He deduced it was Molly (typical of her sense of humor) and immediately went to check it.

 **If convenient, come to Baker Street at Once.**

 **If inconvenient, come anyway.**

 **MH**

His heart sped up, just a little to see her initials for reasons he wasn't entirely sure of. She'd always been MH, he was SH, they were simple letters that by all accounts should have no meaning. And she'd parroted his words back at him, the old Sherlock might have been annoyed at her teasing.

He smiled.

 **The case was forgotten as he headed up to the flat.** A new mystery was firmly etching itself in his mind, namely what Molly was up to. Of late, she'd been doing better. More like herself, she'd even gone for a few walks on her own (though he'd still made sure to have someone tailing, just in case she ran into trouble) But there had been more good days then bad, and in her own quiet way she was more at peace then he'd seen her in months.

He took the last step with a slight skip in his step, mind whirling as to what her surprise could be. He didn't think they'd had any plans, she generally set reminders in his phone if they did as he couldn't be relied upon to remember things like needing to eat dinner or getting his stitches cleaned and redone when they became infected. Still, a quick check confirmed this and he let himself in,blinking in surprise.

There were three stations, each a different experiment with note taking and instruments at the ready. A dummy with various weapons on the coffee table nearby, something that smelt odd and looked between a liquid and a solid was in the kitchen and what looked like an old beehive cracked in half was on the counter marked for Petri dishes.

He was dumbfounded. In the center of it all, Molly was in her favorite lab coat and a sunshine yellow dress. It had ruffles along the bottom and matched the smiling and sunglasses wearing sun's that were on her socks.

"Experiments?" He asked. She nodded solemnly.

"I will,of course, provide dinner should they run late. I think something sit down would be most appropriate. Angelo's perhaps."

He looked down at his own clothes, which while suitable for hunting down criminals, were perhaps a little more shabby than he would have deemed appropriate for an evening with Molly.

"Would you like me to change?"

She shook her head and handed over a pair of safety goggles.

"That won't be necessary. But you'll need these."

He put them on, getting settled on his face before nodding back solemnly.

"This is acceptable?"  
Molly nodded back.

"Oh, very handsome."

She turned, looking through her first station. He thought he caught sight of her hands trembling.

"Very good. We may begin."

"Molly."

He turned her back to face him, large hands covering her own and bent to meet her eyes on her own level.

"Is.. is this a date? I'd like to be certain of the sort of behavior you're expecting please. Though, the mimicry is not lost on me." She reddened and tried to look away but he wouldn't let her.

"I was sort of hoping.. If you still want.. I think I'm ready. But maybe we could still take it a little slow? I don't- I'm not- I want to try Sherlock. If you would like to."

"I'd like it very much."

Her smile was a beautiful thing to watch and something that was curled up tight inside of him now loosened itself. Still smiling, she turned back to the stations.

"Shall we begin?"

 **They continued in the same vein for a few months.** Despite the eye rolling on John's part, the occasional attempts at suggesting more "normal" activities from Mrs. Hudson and the endless teasing on Mycroft's (which of course he claimed to be merely concern on the part of the government and her majesty the queen) Sherlock would not be deterred. What he and Molly had was an oddity that suited them and as such he had no intention of changing it.

There _were_ times however of late that his mind had begun to wander, to plot and plan for a future that was growing ever clearer. Which now seemed to happen at the oddest times.

Like, for example, an evening when they were curled up together watching telly. Or, more specifically, Molly was watching it while Sherlock was going over clues for a case he was currently working.

Thoroughly engrossed, it took a second longer for him to register that there was water on his shirt then it normally would.

 _Molly's crying._

 _Crying is bad._

 _Assist and comfort as needed._

"Molly? You're experiencing duress, what's happened? Is it a depressive episode?" His mind was working overtime, scanning the room, his girlfriend, anything for clues. She sniffled and nodded at the TV.

"The bad things don't spoil the good things or make then unimportant." She said along with The Doctor, mopping at her eyes.

"Oh.. it's the show. Perhaps we should turn-"

"No don't - don't. This episode is my favorite."

Together, they watched the the screen briefly before Molly looked up at him, eyes still wet and her little hand cupping his cheek.

"We weren't spoiled were we? I wasn't spoiled by the bad things. And this is still important."

He wasn't prone to emotion but his lips thinned and his eyes flickered away, perhaps looking for a place to put the lump that was rising in his throat.

"It's the most important thing in the world to me." He admitted. She put her ear back over his heart, listened to it pound and her arms came around him.

They fell asleep like that, all wrapped up together.

It was moment's like these, along with many others, that led to the events of that fateful day. Molly had gone to market (the cupboards were so bare she was considering taking the peanut butter off the mouse traps) and was just finishing putting things away when Mrs. Hudson hurried into 221B.

"Oh! Thank heavens you're here. I've just had a most frightful conversation with Sherlock, he's in a proper mood. Says he's got a case that's a real 10 and wants you at the Morgue ages ago!"

Hands fluttering, she grabbed the young woman's coat, manhandling her into it.

"My phone never rang, I had no idea-"

"Best be off dearie, he's raring to go."

And so she was off. It felt like the taxi took forever and she was certain she'd aged a few years by the time it FINALLY made it to Saint Barts. Moving as quickly as she could, she burst into her morgue domain and nearly collided with Lestrade.

"I'm here! I'm here. Sherlock?" She began to shrug out of her jacket,pausing when Greg stopped her.

"He went off somewhere to check his network but he left some specimens in the microscope, we found them at the crime scene. I'm not entirely sure what we're working with here, Sherlock said the body was 'beside the point' and this should be our focus. Some kinda crumb or rock or something?" He rattled off, gesturing to Sherlock's work space.

She took a seat, looking through the microscope at the prepared slides. The first was dirt and something crushed, a smear of red amongst it. The second had a glittering shard and the third was a cut bit of leather.

"Those first and third ones were scraped from our John doe' s shoe. The second was on his left hand." Lestrade continued. Molly nodded, studying both intently and then checking her phone when it dinged.

 _Check my samples for me, I want the results confirmed._

 _SH_

Molly moved over to the opposite lab table, where two marked Petri dishes were sitting. She checked the chemicals used, the dissolve rate and the makeup of each, before texting back.

 _Chemical make up for sample 1 came back as containing rubber, dirt and rose petal._

 _Chemical make up for sample 2 came back as containing depositions of silica. Agate maybe?_

 _Chemical three was fairly obvious from the scent but I checked to be sure, it's alcohol specifically white wine, a Moscato._

 _I think your John Doe might have been prepping for a date of some kind, where was the body found?_

She told Greg of the results and then turned back to her phone once more.

 _Come take a look at the scene, I'm missing something, I always miss something._

 _SH_

She nodded, though he couldn't see her and turned back to Lestrade.

"He wants me at the scene, could I get a lift?"

"Nasty bit of work, I should warn you. The victim was strangled with his own garden lights till he looked like a Smurf poor bastard."

She shrugged.

"I've seen worse."

Greg nodded and the pair was off and running. With the help of the sirens, they reached Smithfield Rotunda Garden in no time. There, John was waiting, presumably to fill her in.

"John? Sherlock sent for you too?" She asked when the quick hug hello was through.

"Must be bigger than we thought, who's next, the rest of the Holmes clan?" Greg balked.

"He's got a mouthful of a cigarettes, and he's already shouted down half the force, it's something huge I'm guessing" John agreed.

"Best not waste any time then, let's go!"

The now trio hurried to the site of the crime and Molly was just wondering where the other police men were when Sherlock and his surprise came into view.

Here were the rose petals she'd found in the first sample, so many hundreds of them that they coated the ground like snow and a bottle of champagne that she assumed had been switched out for the Moscato. John hugged her again, as did Greg and they disappeared somewhere while Sherlock poured them each a fluted glass of the bubbly beverage. He was in his best tailored suit, hair tousled to perfection smiling under the "murder weapon", yards of fairy lights that gave the entire scene a soft glow.

"Sherlock…?" She looked around, accepting his kiss in greeting and the glass. A violin piece played, something lilting and lovely that touched bits of her heart she didn't know existed.

"I apologize for the ruse of having a case."

"It's...how? When? When did you do all this?"

She turned from where she was attempting to find the source of the music and there was her detective, down on one knee.

"Sherlock…" The tears came unbidden as he smiled up at her hopefully.

"I always miss something Molly Hooper. And what I'm missing is you. You to wake up with, you to hold and to love and to cherish. I- I recognize it was out of the norm but we're not exactly normal, are we? I can't promise you I won't forget anniversaries or dinners in lieu of cases. It'll be odd hours and stubborn harshness and also I'll probably experiment on half your wardrobe."

Molly laughed, sniffing as he fished a box out of his pocket, taking her hand in his.

"But I can swear I will use all my powers of deduction to know when you're hurting and how to heal you. When you're sick and how to care for you. I will deduce every day for the rest of our lives exactly how lucky I am to call you my wife, if you would do me such an honor. Molly Janie-Anne Hooper. Will you solve crimes and life's greatest riddles, will you be my pathologist always, and will you marry me?"

There was silence, a heavy pause. A smile more cheerful than her jumper broke out and with a whispered "Yes. Oh yes Sherlock, yes of course, a thousand times yes!" The ring was on her finger and she was exactly where she wanted to be.

The world's only consulting detective.

His pathologist.

And her Sherlock.

Fini

.


End file.
